


Vivat Regina - Long Live the Queen

by sarhea



Series: Vivat Regina [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: hermione_smut, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarhea/pseuds/sarhea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, Voldemort is dead; surely the laws and Wizarding Society would have changed to make life better for those usually marginalized by the Purebloods! Unfortunately they haven’t and Hermione Granger finds her usual methods to get her way are not working. A discussion with a certain Pureblood unearths a bit of Ancient Wizarding Tradition that could cut through the tangled mess of Wizarding Laws, Bureaucracy, and Society Rules. Hermione is a Gryffindor and is willing to take the risk. Has she bitten off more than she can chew this time? The Fates don’t think so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quest for a Ruler

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roadkill2580](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadkill2580/gifts).



> Beta: DelphiPsmith – it was wonderful working with you, constructive and energizing  
> Warnings: graphic sexual/intimate scenes near the end.  
> Spoilers: Deathly Hallows/Epilogue: EWE  
> For: LJ Community hermione-smut Round 5. Roadkill2580  
> 1\. Marriage Law or Time Turner clichés are awesome. Bonus points if you somehow do both together.  
> 4\. The ministry has completely collapsed. As a powerful witch and war heroine, Hermione becomes the head of a new magical monarchy (why it’s Hermione and why she decides to do it is up to you). Now, everyone scrambles to get into her good graces.  
> 5\. Snark coming from either Hermione or her interest(s) or both would be awesome.  
> AN: Muses inspired by ‘13 days of Christmas’ by Chelle and ‘Harem’ by scifichick774. Both are WIP pairing Hermione with Salazar. Both can be read on GrangerEnchanted, Harem is being updated but 13 days hadn’t been for a long while.  
> AN: Please note I took some liberties with the prompts. I’m using a different variant on the Marriage Law theme, not the usual Ministry arranged matchups. There is a common theme in fanfics where soulmates, ‘fated’ or compatibility-test matched couples must marry. Here the matchmaker is not the Ministry but Hermione is still required to marry to satisfy a certain unwritten law or lose big. The Ministry hasn’t completely collapsed, yet, and is in a stalemate situation where nothing can be done. There is a big powder keg just waiting for the spark to set it off. There is no time turner per say, but there is time travel. Hermione’s partner (Slytherin) is brought forward.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets the ball rolling to locate a new leader for Wizarding Society and is surprised when she gets tapped for the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic new laws are created by the Ministry making proposals to the Wizengamot. If the Wizengamot does not voice a protest those proposals are confirmed as Ministry Law. My beta Delphi said it was sort of like the concept of ‘nolo contendere’. She is right.
> 
> [Latin, I will not contest it.] A plea in a criminal case by which the defendant answers the charges made in the indictment by declining to dispute or admit the fact of his or her guilt.  
> The defendant who pleads nolo contendere submits for a judgment fixing a fine or sentence the same as if he or she had pleaded guilty. The difference is that a plea of nolo contendere cannot later be used to prove wrongdoing in a civil suit for monetary damages, but a plea of guilty can. Nolo contendere is especially popular in antitrust actions, such as price-fixing cases, where it is very likely that civil actions for treble damages will be started after the defendant has been successfully prosecuted.
> 
> Post B7 DH, ignore the epilogue.

Hermione frowned as she reviewed the background research for her latest project on neutralizing the gender bias in the older Wizarding Laws. It was not going well. No one was willing to compromise on the exact wording. In fact there was an entire sub-sect of Olde Laws that applied only to witches! Something else that needed to be reviewed and modified to fit modern society.

"Arghh!" Blue sparks shot from her frizzy mass of curls as she tugged at them, completely wrecking the neat bun she had styled before leaving her flat that morning.

"What is it this time, Hermione?" A familiar cool sardonic voice interrupted the Gryffindor witch's private fit.

Dark brown eyes looked up and blinked at the not-unwelcome sight standing in the doorway of her cupboard-sized Ministry office. (Of course the first thing Hermione had done was to generously use precisely calculated expansion charms and wards to increase the space and guarantee her privacy.) It just so happened that Daphne Greengrass was one of the rare Slytherins with whom Hermione found she could work. The Muggleborn witch sagged back in her personalized comfy chair and waved her friend inside.

"I just found the books relating to Witches Law."

The blue-eyed mahogany-haired witch blinked as she stepped in, transfigured the chair into a leather-covered recliner, and took a seat. "You didn't know?"

"How would I?" Hermione cried out in frustrated tones. "I'm a Muggleborn! I don't understand why they don't have Wizard Studies for Muggleborn students in Hogwarts. It would have been a whole lot more useful than Muggle Studies, you know."

Daphne tilted her head to one side. "The idea was proposed in the past but it was always shot down," she admitted. "Some customs are private, within families or certain circles. And others are too varied and volatile to be practiced without experienced elders around."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "So I've found out, through a lot of research and experimentation." She stared Daphne in the eye. "This sort of thing doesn't help bring Muggleborns into the fold, you know. Unless we're exposed to Your Ways, how can they become Our Ways?"

Daphne inclined her head. "I know. That's why Father has been pretty encouraging about our partnership."

Hermione nodded. "And I'm grateful for that. I appreciate the time you and your parents have spent instructing me on the unwritten rules of Pureblood society and the Ministry. But there are still moments when I feel like an ignorant First Year." She inhaled deeply. "Daphne, why is it so hard to make any changes in the Ministry? From what I saw, Fudge and Lucius Malfoy didn't have problems ramming their bigoted laws through when we were students." Sensing Daphne's silent request for details, the Gryffindor witch expanded. "I mean, it's been more than eighteen months since the Battle of Hogwarts. The first two months were bad, everyone was focused on survival and healing. By the time the first anniversary came around, most of the essential repairs were almost done and I truly thought we were ready to move forward, to start some positive changes. But here we are, six months later, and nothing's changed! The bigoted illogical laws, the resistance to any type of change…" Hermione's expression fell. "Why don't they understand change isn't always a bad thing, Daphne? Why don't they understand that if they don't change, the same thing is going to happen again, and again, and again?"

Daphne was saddened by the downcast face of the witch who had somehow become part of her trusted circle. She considered the question and tried to formulate a response Hermione would not poke holes in. "Hermione, how much have you studied about the Wizengamot by-laws?"

"Quite a bit. Most of the proposed changes are stalling in the Chambers because there aren't enough members to pass the bills. What I don't understand is why they aren't filling the seats if there aren't enough members to pass anything. The Wizengamot is useless in their current state."

Daphne twisted a blonde tress and laughed softly. "They can't decide on who to bring in without eroding their own power base. Right now negotiations are still ongoing, and no one can agree on particular names."

Hermione frowned slightly. "Okay. I did try talking to Tiberius Ogden about modernizing the laws, but he just huffed and said that was Just Not Done. I don't understand, Daphne. He's not a bigot, so why did he react like that?"

"Okay, Hermione, time for some unspoken truths." The Pureblood witch watched her friend lean forward listening intently. "The Wizengamot is not all-powerful like they pretend. They cannot undo a law once they have passed it."

"But Fudge-"

"-was not passing Wizengamot law. Ministry Law can be amended by the Department Heads and signed off by the Minister of Magic. Those laws can be challenged and struck down easily. For truly lasting anti-prejudice laws they must be passed by the Wizengamot. Unfortunately the Chamber passed prejudiced laws in the past, and now they cannot pass any laws that go against those already in place."

Hermione frowned. "But that's so stupid!" The involuntary outburst slipped free. "People change. Societies change. Countries change. How can they expect laws to never change?"

Daphne nodded. "That's true, laws change. However, in Wizarding Britain only the Monarch can strike down a Wizengamot-passed law."

Hermione frowned slightly. She had not read anything about the British Monarch having the authority to intervene in Wizarding matters. She heaved an internal sigh. It was probably another one of those unwritten rules that everyone - but Muggleborns - knew.

Not sensing Hermione's distraction, Daphne continued her explanation. "You know how most Wizengamot rulings are either incredibly vague or fiendishly convoluted?" Hermione nodded. "That's to allow the Old Families - or anyone who can afford trained barristers - the option of exercising the loopholes. It's also why the Wizengamot is so reluctant to pass any bills. In fact, they normally only approve whatever laws the Ministry in power proposes, with a few rare exceptions. However, since the end of the Second War, they've refused to even approve the laws the new Ministry has been recommending."

"Hang on a sec, you mean there's a difference between 'pass' and 'approve'?"

"Definitely! Passing a law means the Wizengamot formally registers the law and it's set until a Monarch revokes it. Approving a law simply means they aren't protesting a law suggested by the Ministry. The Ministry can then formalize it into Ministry law, which can be changed by any subsequent government. However, with the recent purges there aren't enough Wizengamot members to form a quorum, to approve any proposed laws. This has made it much harder for the Ministry to operate. Shacklebolt has to work within the current set of laws, and as we both know they are blatantly prejudiced. There are even whispers that the Wizengamot will refuse to ratify the upcoming Ministry budget. That will result in the Ministry shutting down, since there will be no galleons to run the departments or pay the workers."

Hermione huffed, tugging at a frizzy tress. "Okay, the Prime Minister of England knows about magical society, so why can't we go to the Queen of England and ask her to strike down the old prejudiced laws?"

Daphne snorted. "Hermione, sweetie, the Monarch has to be a magical."

Hermione sagged back in her chair. "We're doomed!" she groaned. "Elizabeth the Second isn't, a witch and her son and grandsons are definitely not wizards."

Daphne looked amused. "Don't be silly, Hermione. When I said the Monarch could strike down Wizengamot passed laws, I meant the Wizarding Monarch."

Hermione sat up straight. "Wizarding Monarch? I didn't read anything about Wizarding Britain having a king." She frowned. "Wouldn't that be illegal? Or treasonous?"

Daphne shook her head. "The Wizard Kings and Queens are not crowned in the same manner as the Muggle ones."

Dark brown brows knitted. "I don't understand."

"The Magical Crown of Wizarding Britain is not passed from father to son, or even in a particular family. The Monarch is chosen by magick itself." Seeing Hermione's brown eyes widen and satisfied she had caught the Gryffindor's attention, Daphne continued. "The last Wizarding Monarch was Richard Peverell. He was crowned in 1445 and assassinated in 1457. There have been no monarchs after him."

"Peverell? The same family in the Deathly Hallows fairy tale?"

"Yes."

Hermione absorbed the new information. "Okay. So how does magick select a monarch?"

Daphne grinned impishly. "I did some comparison essays in Muggle Studies and was very interested in how Merlin's Arthur became King."

"You mean…"

"A true Wizard Monarch can draw a certain sword from a certain stone."

"Arthur's sword?"

"No. You know the original sword he pulled from the stone was damaged in battle."

"And Excalibur was returned to the Lady of the Lake after Arthur's last battle," Hermione pointed out thoughtfully.

Daphne inclined her head. "Correct. Merlin enchanted the same stone with a different sword and similar rules… To select a Magical Monarch for the British Isles."

Hermione leaned back heavily. "Surely someone would have tried to trick the enchantment!"

"Oh yes! But none have succeeded in by-passing Merlin's Enchantment. In fact most have given up on ever seeing a true Magical Monarch anymore. It's part of the reason why the Ministry managed to get so much power in the last two centuries."

Hermione bit her lip. "But surely some powerful wizard would have tried it recently."

"I heard Voldemort tried and failed dismally." Daphne admitted candidly. "He couldn't even cross the outermost protections encircling the stone. They're very ancient and resistant to all magic, even the Dark Arts."

Hermione nodded firmly. "Okay. So we need to find a monarch. A monarch who can give Wizarding Society the kick it needs to get moving."

Daphne was amused. "Sweetie, it's not as easy as you think."

"Yes, I know, it'll probably be ten times harder than what you even estimate, but we can't just give up!"

Daphne sighed. "Okay, I know that look. What mad idea is percolating in that brain of yours this time?"

Hermione leaned forward. "We get every single adult magical in Britain to try to draw the sword from the stone."

"You're mad. No one has even touched the stone in nearly three hundred years! It has injured, and even killed, those it deemed as unsuitable."

"Maybe, but I don't see any other alternative. We can get all the Ministry workers and everyone we think could be suitable candidates to try. If none of them passes, we can post an advert in the _Prophet_. Anyone interested can give it a shot for two galleons." Daphne snorted but Hermione continued unrepentant. "It would help keep the budget solvent, too."

Daphne was horrified. "Oh, Merlin! You don't mean that!"

"Of course I do." Hermione was affronted. "But I don't think it will come to that. Harry is a hero and good-hearted. He pulled Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat in Second year. I'm sure he can pull this sword as well." She leaned forward. "Where is this Sword in the Stone kept? Is there a particular Department that administers the test? Who do I need to speak to?"

Daphne frowned slightly. "I don't know where the Sword and Stone is kept but the Department of Mysteries should."

Hermione grinned broadly. Hypatia in the DoM owed Hermione a favour for the Arithmancy analysis she had done for them last month. She grabbed a sheet of parchment and quill to compose a letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, requesting a meeting.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Harry Potter stared at his best female friend before turning to look at what was in front of them: a narrow path paved with uneven gray granite slabs leading to a set of five shallow steps. At the top of the steps was a wide roughly circular platform carved with softly glowing runes on all sides. In the center of the platform was a waist-high boulder of sparkling pink granite, the stone acting as a sheath for the sword thrust into it, its hilt pointing straight up.

"I'm not sure about this, Hermione."

"Go on, Harry," Hermione urged softly.

"But what if-"

"If you're not the one, you won't be able to pull it out."

"Just do it, Harry!" A familiar female voice called out from behind them.

"Yeah, mate. If you can't, then let the rest of us give it a shot. I'm sure one of us can pull it out. I'm fact I'm sure I'd be a great king!" a more familiar masculine voice boasted.

"Ron!" Hermione spun around in a huff. "This is not a game we're playing here! Whoever becomes the Wizarding Monarch has a great responsibility to all of Magical Britain. It is nothing like playing for the Cannons!"

"Hey!" Ron was quick to take offense against any slight to his beloved Chudley Cannons.

Arthur Weasley was quick to intercede. "That's enough, Ron." Arthur smiled encouragingly at his surrogate son. "Give it a shot, Harry. The protections have never harmed anyone who carries no ill intent, only those with truly malicious plans."

Harry wanted to run and hide. Hermione had gathered the whole old crowd, all the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army, before making her presentation. Of course she hadn't provided an explanation when calling the meeting, only said that she needed an hour of their time. Curiosity had drawn everyone in; they knew Hermione would have never sent out such a meeting request without very good reason.

"If the protections don't allow you to pass, just step aside and let someone else try," Kingsley murmured.

"Do you honestly think I'm the one?" Harry had very little confidence in himself.

Kingsley considered the question before answering. "Truthfully, no. But you have to be the first, so there are no disputes later."

"Why?" Harry asked. "You don't think I can hack it?" He forgot that just a minute ago he had been fighting Hermione from the other side.

"Do you really want to?" Kingsley challenged calmly. "Are you willing to fight another war, this time to reform bigoted unfair laws, bring change and improvement for all of Magical Britain? In this war right and wrong will not be so clear cut. It will be more of an uphill battle than fighting Voldemort."

Harry looked away. "No," he admitted before his spine stiffened and he completed his response. "But I would do it, if I pulled the sword out."

"I know, Harry, but I've known many good wizards and witches who tried and failed. It is not a slight upon your character."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. You wouldn't know this of course - nor would Hermione or Daphne, not yet - but it's part of the oaths one takes in reaching a certain rank in the Ministry. You're taken to the sword and you try to remove it. The last one who succeeded was a Junior Secretary, Richard Peverell, almost six hundred years ago."

Harry nodded, turned away, and began walking up the path. As he moved up each step the excited murmurs built behind him.

"No one has crossed the third step in fifty years," Terry Boot murmured.

Then Harry was on the edge of the platform. He took one step and then another to stand right next to the stone. He leaned forward to grasp it - and yelped when his hand hit a shield that set off gold and silver sparks.

He tried a second and third time before giving up. His fingers were red and twitchy.

"I can't touch the sword," he called out.

"Damn it!" Harry wasn't sure who cursed but it sounded an awful lot like Hermione. "All right, everyone, time for Plan B. Form a line and give it a shot."

Harry retreated down the steps and watched as those present did just that. Hermione hugged him tight as he moved away from the queue being formed.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I honestly thought you'd pull it out," she whispered.

Harry shook his head. "I'm glad I didn't," he confessed. "It would be just one more burden I don't want." He looked his best friend in the eye to prove it. Seeing her relax slightly he did as well.

They stood side by side and watched many witches and wizards try and fail at various stages in the path. Some managed to get onto the platform but none were permitted close enough to the stone to even try to grasp the hilt.

They watched Ron swagger up the steps, bounce off the third step, and fall flat on his arse. And repeat the same feat five times before his father pulled him away. Various Ministry employees did not even try approaching the stone. Harry supposed they had tried before and failed. After forty minutes it became clear that the Enchantment did not find any of the candidates suitable.

"What do you want to do now?" Kingsley asked Hermione, deferring to her since she was the one who had started the whole ball rolling in the first place.

"We open the floor to anyone willing to try." That caused a massive outcry but Hermione's blunt words cut through. "The Enchantment works. It will not allow anyone unsuitable to be chosen. And we need a Wizarding Monarch. So, we let anyone who thinks he or she can do it try." Hermione's tone was level and unyielding.

Kingsley frowned slightly. "That could become unmanageable. Certain families will insist on being first in line to make the attempt."

Hermione smirked evilly. "If they want an earlier place, they can pay heavily for the privilege. I refuse to believe snots like Malfoy or Parkinson will succeed where we failed. To go to the head of the line is a hundred galleons. Otherwise, the first shot is free, a second shot is fifty galleons, a third is five hundred, a fourth is five thousand, and so on. All the fee money will go into the Ministry budget."

Harry laughed. He could almost see Draco Malfoy insisting on re-trying many times.

"And what about the Purebloods who wish to be first among those who pay a hundred galleons to go first?" Kingsley wanted to know.

Hermione bit her lower lip. "Let them. For a one-time fee of five hundred galleons. After that, the next candidate is randomly drawn from those in the waiting room."

Arthur snorted softly. "It will take days!"

"Then let it!"

"The entire magical world will laugh at us," someone else objected.

Hermione snorted indelicately. "It's not like we have a better option." Her eyes glowed. "In fact, let's make it as public and transparent as possible! Have a press conference announcing the situation: anyone interested in trying to pull the sword out can give it their best shot, and if they want to be ahead of the rest or try more than once, they have to pay for the privilege."

"This will have to be supervised by impartial, respectable witnesses," Kingsley warned.

"I'm sure we can persuade a few Wizengamot members to earn their healthy stipends by spending a few shifts in rotation as witnesses," Hermione murmured acidly.

Kingsley and Arthur both choked on their laughs. The younger witches and wizards, members of the DA, were not so restrained and laughed openly. Molly Weasley was scandalized but Hermione paid no attention. Her mind was focused on working through the logistics of such an event, considering the names of those she could cajole, bribe, or blackmail into assisting.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

"Come on, Hermione. Eat something. It'll make you feel better," Harry cajoled as he spread out tea towels and laid out a variety of wrapped sandwiches prepared by Kreacher and Winky. Usually his sandwich was gulped down at his desk, but Kingsley had asked him to talk to Hermione.

It had been ten weeks since the Ministry announced their plans to locate and crown a Wizarding Monarch. The response had been very positive. As Hermione had predicted, the Purebloods insisted on being first in line and paid very generously for retries. In the weeks that followed, many an average witch and wizard gave their best shot, Pureblood, Halfblood or Muggleborn, to no avail. As the days passed Hermione's energy flagged; she was discouraged but not quite ready to throw in the towel.

"Just try some. Cheese and ham, your favourite," Harry wheedled, holding out a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper.

Hermione sighed but accepted the offering, unwrapping the food and nibbling on it half-heartedly before putting it down and sipping the fresh tea Harry had prepared. Feeling a bit relieved that she was at least trying to eat, Harry unwrapped a BLT and began eating. He was good at cooking, thanks to the Dursleys, but he liked eating good food prepared by someone else.

"Thank you, Harry. I just don't feel too hungry," she confessed.

Harry swallowed before speaking. "What is it?" He already had a very good idea what It was: the Sword in the Stone.

"Oh, Harry! All my plans are falling to pieces. We need someone to become the Wizarding Monarch to start anything! I was so sure that you would be Chosen, or that _someone_ would be Chosen! But no one has succeeded in even gripping the hilt! The only ones of legal age who haven't tried are in St Mungos or Azkaban!" She tugged at a scroll buried under a pile of similar documents. "I've gone through the records of candidates and compared it to the most current census data. It clearly indicates ninety-three point two seven percent of qualified registered adult witches and wizards in Britain have tried and failed."

"Do you have a list of those who haven't yet?" Harry asked practically. "Have you sent a Ministry employee to ask them to come and try?"

"I was working on that. Percy has offered to assign a few interns to do it."

"Can I have a look at the list?" Harry asked.

Hermione sighed as she handed the scroll over. Harry unrolled it and scanned through the list of names. Most were unremarkable. Some were ancient and Harry was certain they would not pass. Then green eyes fell on one particular name.

"Hermione, your name is on this list."

She looked up from her half-eaten sandwich. "What? Oh yes, I'll have to remove it."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Hermione, didn't you take your turn?" He thought hard, trying to recall details of that first day he and the others had tried to pull the sword and failed. She flushed a rosy hue. "You didn't, did you." It was more of a statement than a question.

She flushed a brighter pink. "Oh come on Harry, surely you don't think I could do it!" She laughed slightly, in a self-depreciating manner.

Harry studied the witch who had been one of his most loyal and trustworthy friends from the very beginning. They'd had differences of opinion but never for petty selfish reasons, at least on her part. She had always wanted what was best for everyone around her.

Then he had an epiphany. Hermione never saw the true worth in herself. He heard her voice, from years ago: "Me? Books! And cleverness! There are more important things – friendship and bravery." She was a true friend and at times much braver than she knew. Hermione would make a great monarch because she wanted to make things better for everyone else.

He grinned. "Come on, 'Mione. It was your idea to have every witch and wizard give it a shot. So why won't you?"

She tossed her head. "Harry Potter! I don't have time to waste on such nonsense. There's no way I'd pull the sword when you've failed."

"Come on, who'll it hurt?" Harry cajoled with a smile. "You need a break from all this paperwork."

"I have other projects-"

"They can wait!" Harry cut her off. "I know you always come early and stay late. You work during lunches and even on the weekends at home. You deserve a little break."

Hermione stared at her oldest friend and could not come up with a good reason not to try. Harry had tried to pull the sword and failed. So had more than ninety percent of the witches and wizards in Britain. It was no shame to fail in this test, especially when it wasn't one she could study for.

"Oh all right," she conceded, grumbling. "Just let me send a message to Padma and post a note on my door."

Harry grinned and watched her do that before dragging her to the lower levels, the oldest parts of the Ministry where the Sword in the Stone Chamber lay.

For most of the last three months these rooms and corridors had been packed with those wishing to attempt the Test. By three weeks ago the crowds had thinned to stragglers and few retries. In recent days the only ones stopping by were the occasional witch or wizard who had been out of the country on holiday. In the beginning the witness boxes had been packed with senior Wizengamot members and Ministry employees. Now a junior Ministry employee and Wizengamot aide were seated playing a game of Exploding Snap to pass the time. There was also a junior reporter for the _Daily Prophet_. What surprised Hermione were the House Elves sitting in one witness box.

"Harry, what are the House Elves doing here?"

Harry glanced in their direction. "They've been posted by the pureblood families that own them, so they will be notified immediately, if the Sword is drawn. At the start the Purebloods watched in person. Then they sent their House Elves. Now only the diehards who can afford it have an Elf watching."

Hermione snorted softly. "So they can be first in line to lavish praise and curry favour," she scoffed.

Harry shrugged. "I guess. But somehow I don't think the Enchantment will choose anyone who can be bribed or intimidated. That's probably why a Wizarding Monarch hasn't been Crowned in centuries."

They approached the three humans in the witness box closest to the steps. Hermione smiled at her old schoolmates. "Hello Hannah, Ernie, Penny."

Hannah Abbott had decided to work for the Ministry after finishing her NEWTs. Ernie was assisting his grandfather, a Wizengamot member. Penelope Clearwater Weasley had decided to work part time for the _Daily Prophet_ , mainly covering community events ("filler fluff pieces that paid the bills," as she described it at a Burrow Sunday dinner).

Now she nodded at them. "Hello Hermione, Harry."

Ernie was more blunt. "What are you two doing here?"

Harry grinned. "Hermione is going to give the sword a shot," he said.

All three turned towards the Gryffindor witch.

"You didn't try already?" Hannah sounded amazed. "Why in Merlin's name not?"

Hermione blushed. "I was too busy," she confessed. "First with the research, then organizing the event, then I wanted to bone up on Pureblood etiquette regarding the monarchs."

Harry gave her a pointed look. "Her name was on the list of those who didn't try, so I insisted she come down and take her turn."

Hermione scoffed. "If you failed, I don't see any reason I'd succeed."

All four of them blinked and stared at her.

"Why not?" Hannah said.

Hermione sighed. "I did some research on the old Wizarding Monarchs. Each and every one of them were from Old families - and not snots like Malfoys, either. They were the best and brightest, the most brilliant minds and most powerful of their day."

Harry snorted. "Bollocks. You're the brightest and most powerful witch of our generation Hermione. Both Minerva and Dumbledore said so."

The witch blushed. "Thank you Harry, but it's different. They were original thinkers." She sighed wistfully, longingly. "I'd love to have access to their private papers and read what they were working on, things that they had put aside for other projects."

Penelope nodded in understanding. "I totally agree. The Royal Archives have been sealed for more than four hundred years. It would be a great boon to review projects past Monarchs have worked on."

Hermione nodded firmly. "That's one of the reasons I pushed for this. If a new Monarch is Crowned, things can change so much for the better."

There was a pensive silence, which Harry broke by pushing his friend forward onto the granite path.

"Go on," he urged softly.

She scowled at him briefly then took a deep breath and faced the stone. She took each step carefully, shaking out the skirts of her charcoal gray robes. When she reached the platform she stopped. Only thirty-four witches and wizards had reached this point. She stepped towards the stone. Only eighteen. She leaned forward hesitantly, to grip the hilt. Only seven had succeeded in reaching for the hilt, including Harry. Just before she could touch the hilt she froze. At this point Harry had been stopped by the Enchantment.

Several meters away, Harry frowned. He had not seen any sparks indicating that the shield had been triggered. "Go on, Hermione! Grab the sword and draw it," he called out.

The three standing beside him reacted swiftly, realizing something different was happening.

Penny Weasley fumbled with her camera, moving to get a better unobstructed shot. Hannah and Ernie shifted their positions to get into a clear line of sight so that they could provide a complete Veritaserum or pensieve witness account. A series of soft pops sounded from behind them as the House Elves moved in to see what the humans were watching.

"Draw the sword, Hermione," Hannah called out encouragingly.

The witch at the top of the platform trembled before reaching out, slowly, to grip the golden hilt encrusted with rubies, sapphires, and diamonds.

A melody eerily reminiscent of Phoenix song echoed in the Chambers; the music dipped and rose and trilled and shimmered and rose into an exultant crescendo as Hermione Jean Granger pulled the Sword out of the Stone and held it point upwards in the air, the steel blade glowing with a bright white light that filled the Chamber for a brief instant.

When it faded the music died away with it leaving a shell-shocked Hermione staring at the sword she held in her right hand. A shimmer on top of the rose granite block faded to reveal an embroidered leather scabbard and belt.

"I did it." Her voice was thin and reedy. "I drew the sword."

Harry could clearly see this was an event she had not even thought possible nor accounted for. He turned to the awed faces around him, taking control of the situation. "All right, everyone. Hermione needs some time to adjust and Kingsley needs to be told. Sit tight on this until you get the okay from him. Penny, this will give you time to write the article you want: the new Wizarding Monarch."

His words were enough to snap Hermione out of her shock. "It's not possible." Her voice was uncharacteristically uncertain. "All the past monarchs have been Purebloods, or from a magical lineage."

"And haven't you always said you're as good as, if not better than, any Pureblood?" Hannah retorted sharply. She herself was a Halfblood and more than a little familiar with scorn from prejudiced Purebloods.

Hermione's spine stiffened. "You're right. It's just… it's something I thought was never possible."

She picked up the scabbard and belt and then came down the steps holding the sword point down. Penny took advantage of the moment to take a few more shots as Hermione joined them.

"What next?" Harry asked.

"The Coronation Ritual," Hermione responded after some thought. "My contacts in the Department of Mysteries wouldn't tell me much about it."

"Well, you drew the sword so they'll have to tell you now," Harry pointed out. "But first we have to go and tell Kingsley." He stared at her. "I think you should try to hide that sword before we go out, or else everyone in the building will know in five minutes." There was a soft popping sound and everyone spun around to see the House Elves vanish. "Forget the Ministry, all the Pureblood families are going to hear that a Muggleborn drew the Sword and is our next Monarch." He looked Hannah, Penny, and Ernie directly in the eye. "Keep mum as long as you can. I need to get Hermione out of here."

She opened her mouth to protest. "Har-"

He cut her off. "Don't Harry me. You're going to be the target of mobs and every leech in existence. Let me protect you as you protected me."

She closed her mouth and nodded shortly.

Hannah spoke up. "I'll let the Department Heads know so they can begin sealing the building."

"I'll let my grandfather know so the Wizengamot can be assembled," Ernie added as well.

"I'll tell Luna and Neville," Penny offered. "They can inform Minerva and the rest of the crowd discreetly."

Hermione was suddenly very grateful for their offers of assistance. "Thank you."

"Now get going," Ernie urged. "Before the Family Heads show up."

Harry and Hermione didn't have to think twice about his advice to escape. Unfortunately when they reached the office of the Minister of Magic, his secretary informed them that Kingsley had already left for the day.

For twenty seconds they dithered, trying to decide what to do next. Then Harry hit on an idea. "Neville's grandmother is part of the Wizengamot and she knows a lot of Wizarding Traditions. She would know what to do next, or at least who would know."

Kingsley's secretary was a bit confused by their request to use his private floo but didn't see a reason to say no, since their close friendship with the Minister was common knowledge. Luckily Augusta Longbottom was at home and willing to see them.

Hermione was the first one through the fireplace, tossing floo powder and calling out "Longbottom Manor" before vanishing. Harry was just seconds behind her.

Five minutes later the secretary was confronted by a mob of pureblood Family Heads, Heirs and Matriarchs all seeking the whereabouts of Hermione Granger.

Their repeated floo-calls to Longbottom Manor failed, as Augusta Longbottom was not accepting any messages.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Augusta Longbottom's usually steady hand trembled as she prepared tea for her guest. She was very grateful Mr Potter had tactfully asked for a tour of the greenhouses. What she had to discuss with Miss Granger was for her and her alone.

Once both of them were sipping their tea, her aged eyes fell upon the sword and scabbard lying on the coffee table between them. The Sword from the Stone, Bright Dawn of New Hope. The Longbottoms were one of the few families who still had records from before the time of the Founders. No Longbottom had ever become Monarch, but they had always been advisors and trusted confidants to them. Given Miss Granger's close relationship with Neville, Augusta could see the same relationship forming again. If Miss Granger was willing to risk it all, to make the necessary sacrifices.

Hermione put her nearly empty cup down with a soft clink. "Madame Longbottom, I'm sorry if I sound rude but I need to know."

"Could you specify what, exactly?"

"What happens next? I've drawn the sword but no one can tell me what the next step is."

Augusta nodded slowly. "The next step is your Coronation and Marriage."

Hermione Granger went very still. "My...what?"

"All Wizarding Monarchs are married."

"But I'm not even in a serious relationship!" the younger witch sputtered. "They can't force me. I mean, I am the monarch now, right?"

Oh how young and innocent Muggleborns were, Augusta thought. Few of them understood the truth that one must sacrifice for power. It might be yourself or your kin, your allies or your enemies, but you sacrificed to gain power. Always. "Please be silent and listen, Miss Granger." Augusta waited until the young witch complied and settled down to listen. "During the Coronation Ritual, the crown appears in the hands of the spouse, who then crowns the monarch."

"And if the monarch isn't married?"

"There have been instances when the monarch was unmarried when they drew the sword, yes. In such cases, if the monarch is betrothed and the bond stable, the crown appears in the betrothed's hands. If the monarch is not betrothed, then the Fates decide who is best fit to be his or her spouse and consort. During the Coronation Ritual, the crown will appear in the hands of your true mate. In fact there have been instances when a betrothal was broken because the crown appeared in the hands of another, one deemed more suitable by the Fates."

"And if I were to go out and get married right now, before the Coronation? Or if I married a Muggle?"

"I would strongly suggest you not do that. The Fates will not be fooled by such a transparent trick, and you only demean what you have won by doing so." Augusta was pleased when the younger witch sagged and seemed to accept the words. "If you wish to become Monarch you must go through the Coronation Ritual within three days."

"Three days!" Hermione sounded aghast.

"If you do not, the sword will vanish and reappear in the stone," Augusta warned. "You will not be able to draw it out again because you were unwilling to make the necessary sacrifices, for the greater good of all."

Hermione was silent for a while before voicing a question that concerned her. "Does anyone have any theories about how the Fates choose a consort?"

"There are many theories, but the Fates have never chosen wrong." Augusta's voice was sincere. "Even if you have doubts, my dear, you must accept the one in whose hands the crown appears. If you don't, the crown will vanish and the sword will reappear in the stone."

"You're making me very nervous, the way you say that."

"You should be. The Fates are harsh but impartial. Their choices are made without prejudice, with good reason. There have been many consort matches that seemed quite odd and unlikely, but resulted in stable and successful unions."

"What do you mean?"

"Some of the consorts chosen were ancient, or even deceased. The Fates actually resurrected and rejuvenated them to a similar age as the monarch. Those unions were exceptionally powerful matches."

"I never read anything about that in my research!"

"It is not something publicized. Most of the revived souls chose different names and did not attempt to renew ties with their living descendants, fearing that there would be conflict, especially over assets and control. Besides, as consort their allegiance and loyalties were rightfully directed towards their spouse, not their past families."

A small furrow creased Hermione's smooth white brow. "Is it ethical? Or even desirable? I mean, the Fates reviving dead witches and wizards! I don't think I'd be too happy if I was told I was going to be resurrected for the sole purpose of marrying a total stranger!"

"All past resurrected consorts confirmed they had freely agreed to the Fates' terms. And all of them became productive contributing members of Wizarding Society in their second lives."

"Who were they?"

Augusta rattled off a list of several well-known names from Wizarding history, many notable enough to have their own Chocolate Frog cards.

Hermione's expression turned pensive. "They were all powerful and brilliant. But there was nothing about them being a Consort in their biographies."

"There wouldn't be. It is not our way to record a magically bestowed title unless the recipient did something significant in regards to it. Most of the Consorts didn't, so the title wasn't added to their biographies. It is part of the Crown Magic. Unless they exercise the power they lose the title status. It is part of the reason why most of the traditions and history surrounding the Wizarding Monarch are not published but rather passed down orally through the generations in certain families or recorded in handwritten Family Grimoires," Augusta explained.

Hermione inhaled sharply. "Is there anything else I need to know about this Consort the Fates are going to choose for me?"

"This also is not common knowledge, but there has always been a tradition of balanced or contrasting pairings: if the Monarch is Light-oriented the Consort is Dark, and vice versa. Since you are a strongly Light-oriented witch you must be prepared for the possibility of a Dark-oriented Consort."

Hermione grimaced. "As long as the Fates don't bring me Voldemort, Grindelwald or some other psychotic Dark Lord, I suppose I'll be okay." She grinned more cheerfully. "Besides, from what you've said the Consort is always brilliant and intelligent. That leaves out most of the Dark Lords I know of." Her expression became cautiously thoughtful. "I think I would be okay with a Dark oriented consort as long as he doesn't call me Mudblood and look down on me as inferior."

"I don't think we have to worry about that, Miss Granger. Fate-Chosen Consorts are always more than what you could have ever imagined. And they are always constructively beneficial." Augusta Longbottom hesitated. "But...be prepared for anyone. He may be someone you know, someone you love or hate or have no real opinion of, or a complete stranger, but you must accept him because the union must be consummated and sealed within five hours of the bonding."

"What do you mean?"

Augusta raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't need to define the word 'consummated' to an intelligent young woman like yourself."

Hermione paled. She hadn't considered this possibility but she was not ready to back off.

"Oh Merlin!"

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

TBC…


	2. Crowning a Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes her choice and is surprised by just who the Fates have selected to be her Consort and husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are a visual person imagine Welsh actor Ioan Gruffudd as Salazar Slytherin.  
> Heavily borrowed the coronation vows from the British Coronation Ceremony.

Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror, unable to recognize the pale, composed and beautifully groomed witch reflected in the silvered surface. It was reminiscent of her transformation for the Yule Ball in Fourth Year. Andromeda Tonks had the same sense of style and elegance as her sister Narcissa Malfoy. Teddy's grandmother could easily make a fortune as a professional fashion consultant and stylist, if she wanted to.

She was very aware of her nudity beneath the two layers of clothes she wore; a thin silky gown underneath claret red velvet robes embroidered with silver and cut to reveal the full silvery sleeves and skirts beneath. She had chosen to wear ballet slippers, colour transfigured to match her robes, with no stockings. Hermione shivered slightly, wishing she could use a warming charm and trying to ignore the real reason she was not wearing any undergarments.

"Are you sure about this?"

Hermione stared at the face that had appeared behind her shoulder in the mirror. Familiar, concerned green eyes met hers in the silvered surface. The witch stiffened her spine and lifted her chin. Andromeda had rubbed a special cream into every inch of Hermione's skin after her bath. It made her skin shimmer and glow, but apart from that she wore no makeup. Her hair was restrained in an old-fashioned snood made from gold net and held in place by combs decorated with gold beads and pearls.

"Very."

Harry did not take offence at her clipped tone. She was under a great deal of stress. Hermione did not make choices lightly without considering all the factors, costs and benefits. She just needed to be reminded of that. "Can I ask why you're doing this? Why you're giving up the chance to fall in love?"

Her eyes went very wide before her expression softened. "Oh, Harry, I'd forgotten what a romantic you are."

He stiffened. "Hey! You don't need to be insulting."

"Oh, I'm not. It's just the way you are. You're like one of those chivalrous knights out of legend." She grinned broadly. "Goes with your saving-people complex!"

"Hey!" But he was smiling too. Then he gently redirected her. "Have you given up on love?"

She was silent for a long moment, examining the silver embroidery on her cuffs before looking up with wet eyes, "Yes."

For a moment Harry wanted to protest, then his rusty instincts kicked in. Deciding his best option was to shut up and listen, he did just that and waited for her to continue.

"I thought I loved him, you know. Ron I mean." Harry did not say anything. "I really did. When we were at Hogwarts, when he was dating Lavender, when we were hunting the Horcruxes, when he left us, when you died and came back, when Voldemort died… I really thought we'd marry and have kids. But then I found out Ron was more interested in having fun and getting his own way."

"He cheated on you."

"Yes. I took him back both times because he claimed it was a drunken mistake. But then I saw it with my own eyes. He met some witch for lunch in the Leaky Cauldron and took her upstairs. I didn't want to cause any problems by telling everyone so I just broke it off, saying it wasn't working for us. And it wasn't really… We're just too different, and he never truly respected me. You know how he'd always put down my interest in books and studying, and my work in reforming the laws."

Harry nodded solemnly. She was right.

She laughed, a choked sobbing sound. "Do you know what happened, Harry? After I talked to Madame Longbottom? I apparated home and activated my secondary wards to keep everyone out. But Ron was already there. He must have heard from Penny that I had pulled out the sword, because as soon as I stepped out of the Floo he started talking about how he'd realized how much he missed me, and that he wanted to give it a try again. I told him flat out that I wasn't interested in rekindling ashes. You know what he said? That I was almost an old maid who had no real prospects, and that I should marry him because no one else would want me."

Harry clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to rush out and give his so-called best friend the beating of a lifetime. "I hope you threw him out on his arse."

Hermione smiled through her tears. "I did one better and hexed him. And used Avis Oppugno." Harry burst out laughing. So did Hermione. "It felt good to see him run," she admitted. "I re-set the wards to lock him and everyone else but you, Minerva, and Kingsley out of my flat."

Harry tilted his head to one side inquiringly. "What did Minerva tell you?"

"She didn't tell me anything. She said she knew I was sure of what I wanted to do. What she wanted to know was whether I had the courage to reach out and take it."

"And what did you tell her?"

Hermione lifted her chin defiantly. "Yes. I was sorted into Gryffindor but the Hat told me I had qualities of all four Houses; bravery and courage for Gryffindor, loyalty and hard work for Hufflepuff, intelligence and wit for Ravenclaw, and cunning and ambition for Slytherin."

"Then are you ready?"

"Yes." She turned to face him directly and held out a small, almost fragile-looking hand.

Harry took it and bowed over it before straightening to meet her eyes. "Then let's get this show on the road."

She picked up the sword and scabbard with her free hand and allowed Harry to lead her out of her dressing room.

As they walked out of the warded ante-chamber and into the empty corridor, Harry was very conscious of their role reversal. Usually Hermione was the one providing encouragement and support for Harry. He was determined to do a good job of it, now that it was his turn. Because she deserved the best.

By the time they reached the hall being used for the Coronation Ritual Harry had set his face into an impassive mask, very conscious of his tailored sherry-brown robes embroidered with red and gold threads and the Potter insignia across the back, the matching ancient chain with the family amulet resting over his heart.

The Elemental Chamber was packed, even with the use of expansion charms. Those present came from all ranks of society, all levels of the Ministry, and all different Wizarding traditions. There were Light, Dark and Neutral oriented families, clans traditionally sorted into Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin, prominent graduates of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. There were foreign dignitaries, representatives of various foreign Ministries in Europe, Africa, and Asia.

Harry was very aware of the hushed whispers and pointing fingers. He was so very proud of Hermione, who walked calmly, her face placid and impervious to the veiled malice and near ill-mannered way some of the Purebloods were referring to her: they did not call her Mudblood, but they came perilously close to it. Oddly enough Harry was more proud of the way Hermione ignored the reporters who had managed to finagle an invite, the fawning bureaucrats seeking her favour, the witches and wizards who had sniggered at her when they were students, who had laughed at her when she had asked for their support in the reformation efforts. She could have easily rubbed their noses in it, but she chose to remain neutral, showing neither favour nor disfavour to anyone.

When they reached the front of the room Harry stepped aside and watched as Hermione placed the sword and scabbard on the waist-high pillar.

There was silence as everyone watched and waited. Did the Muggleborn witch have the strength and will to make her claim to the Wizarding Crown?

Hermione removed her wand from its forearm holster and inhaled deeply to center herself. When she was prepared, she raised her wand and began casting the first in a chain of charms to initialize the Ritual Circle. A soft wind laced with silvery-blue sparks blew around her.

"I call on Air of the East, for clarity and knowledge."

The tip of her wand glowed gold and left a trail of shimmering dust outlining complex rune arrays in midair. She turned as she drew, until she was encircled in a ring of runes that fell to the granite floor, etching themselves in gold on the hard surface.

"I call on Earth of the North, for reliability and pragmatism."

Trails of fire burst from her wand tip, two ribbons of red flame each anchoring in one etched rune, arching overhead before meeting in the rune directly across.

"I call on Fire of the South, for passion and power."

Two fluid green-blue ribbons unfurled from her wand tip, springing up between each red ribbon and forming a matching arch just under the flames, so they never touched before anchoring themselves across the circle.

"I call on Water of the West, for intuition and creativity."

The Circle was complete. Hermione knew there would be impressed, awed, and calculating expressions on many a face behind her, but she refused to let an unfriendly audience distract her. Less than a dozen times in the last hundred years had someone succeeded in casting a full Elemental Ritual Circle and remained standing at the end of it. Even if something went wrong at this point, Hermione knew no one would be able to discount her as a know-it-all with no real power or ability.

She laid her wand down on the pillar at the centre of the circle and gripped the hilt in her right hand, sheath in her left, drawing the sword out so the blade glowed, reflecting the haze of raw power in the circle. She twisted her wrist, examining the length of steel, the European-style dual cutting blade.

The next step was the hardest part, in Hermione's view. She gritted her teeth and wrapped her left hand tightly around the blade five inches from the hilt. She ignored the pain as the razor-sharp edges cut into her palm and fingers. Blood trailed down the silvery metal towards the hilt, coating her right hand. She stumbled and nearly fell from the sudden energy drain. She leaned heavily on the pillar, struggling to regain her focus for the next part.

A cool sexless voice whispered, "Do you freely take this Oath?"

"I do." Hermione spoke clearly. She was vaguely aware of the annoyed curious expressions of those witnessing. Apparently they could not hear the voice, or her response. She was vaguely pleased by this. She only hoped there wasn't a lip reader in the audience.

"Do you swear to govern the people of the British Isles according to their laws and customs?"

"I do."

"Will you use your Power to cause Law and Justice, tempered by Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments and actions?"

"I will."

"And what will you sacrifice for this?"

"Myself."

There was silence. For a moment Hermione was terrified she had done something wrong. But then she remembered what Augusta Longbottom had told her: Respond with the first thoughts that come to mind and never lie.

"We are impressed, Hermione Jean Granger. Most would say, all that they own, or everything."

Hermione bowed her head uncertain of what to say.

"Tell us what you seek."

Hermione let her thoughts float free in her mind, her childhood, experiences, joys, sorrows, beliefs, desires, ambitions, and plans. It was too much to describe out loud.

"How intriguing! You seek to use your power to initiate Change. Most Monarchs choose to maintain status quo. Even those who had ideas of bringing change preferred not to, in the end." The voice was amused now. "You will be remembered by all who will follow; you will be feared or loved and hated or admired. You most definitely need a very special consort."

Hermione swallowed hard and spoke calmly. "I seek a helpmate, a confidant, a partner. Someone who will lift me up and help me lift others up. Someone who is not afraid of hard work or difficult choices."

"A witch with the wit to realize a pretty face is useless without intelligence, good work ethic, and honour." There was a small pause. "Yes. He will be a most suitable match for you."

"Who...?"

But the voice didn't respond.

On the other side of the pillar a glittering column of shimmering energy formed and grew in intensity until it was almost solid looking before fading away to reveal a man dressed in formal forest green and black robes accented with silver.

He was not too tall, just a few inches taller than Hermione. His hair was dark brown, almost black, falling in heavy waves to below the shoulder with shorter curls falling into his eyes and framing his rather long face. His face was almost too strong, with high defined cheekbones and hollows beneath, a long prominent nose, a sharp jawline and cleft chin, a wide, rather sensual mouth bracketed by prominent laugh lines. He wore a short neat goatee, groomed to cover his chin, upper lip and around his mouth. Eyes of a dark blue, almost black, stood out against his faintly tanned olive skin.

He stood with his hands at waist level holding a crown of gold and silver wire and white silk twisted and braided into a coronet, with delicate points and embellished with diamonds and iridescent scales.

Calculating challenging midnight blue eyes met chocolate brown ones before he spoke, his accent vaguely archaic. "I am Salazar Slytherin. The Fates have chosen me as your Consort. Do you accept or reject their choice?"

Wide brown eyes stared at him, in fear and panic, shock and confusion. Then they fell from his face to his hands and the crown he held. He was the one chosen by the Fates and Hermione was terrified. Was she such a horrible person that the Fates saw Salazar Slytherin as her most suitable match? For two seconds she was tempted to reject him. Then her logical side reasserted itself and she remembered what Augusta Longbottom had told her about Fates-made matches: they were balanced pairings that always worked out for the best.

Her Gryffindor courage stiffened her spine. Her eyes narrowed and her chin lifted, a very recognizable expression to her old schoolmates and teachers, a sight that warned those around to back off or risk experiencing the sharp edge of her temper.

"Welcome to the future, Salazar Slytherin, my Fates-chosen Consort. It has been a thousand years since the founding of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Hermione Granger, alumna of Hogwarts Gryffindor House, the first magical born in my maternal and paternal lines as far back as I can determine, the first woman to draw Bright Dawn of New Hope since Maeve McMillan in 1328, the first to complete the Coronation Ritual since Richard Peverell in 1445. Do you accept me as your spouse?"

The outside corners of those blue eyes crinkled slightly as though the owner of the eyes was amused. "I have no issues with accepting you as mine." He could see his response had shocked her.

"But you don't like Muggleborns!"

He blinked slowly. "True. But then if all Muggleborns were like you, I would have had no concerns about teaching them."

Her eyes narrowed briefly. "But I started off just like them! Knowing nothing about the Wizarding World!"

He arched one dark brow. "True. But did you fear and hate magic? Did your kin and priests tell you magic was evil and you were possessed by the devil? Did you betray your fellow students and mages to the Muggles who hated and feared magic, in order to be forgiven for the so-called sin of being 'possessed'?"

Her eyes widened in shock before narrowing in comprehension. "You hated and feared the society Muggleborns came from, the potential danger."

He nodded once. "Yes."

"So you have no objections to a Muggleborn being monarch? Your spouse?" It was her turn to raise a challenging brow. "Most of the Pureblood families are probably throwing fits right now, and scheming to assassinate me. Even the more liberal families look down on me as being less than competent because I wasn't raised in the traditional ways."

She could sense he was amused. "All great families began from nothing. I am intrigued by the potential in you; you must be truly remarkable for Merlin's Enchantment to find you worthy to be a Monarch, and for the Fates to match us."

"Balanced and Countered," Hermione mused softly. Then she came out of her thoughts. "And what if we weren't Fates-matched?" she challenged him. "What if you had just...met me on the street?"

"I would still be intrigued by your power and resolve," he admitted freely. He reached out and touched a curl that had escaped the snood. A small spark jumped from that lock of hair to his finger. "You have a potent magical charge in your hair and clothes. You should practice grounding yourself. Or at least use a talisman as a magical sink."

She blinked. "I meditated and grounded myself, but the Ritual built up a charge and the Chamber is warded against external energies," she admitted. "I have read about talismans acting as magical sinks but I could never afford one. No one knows how to make everlasting ones any more and the only surviving ones are family heirlooms."

Salazar frowned. "How disturbing. All students who take Enchantments and Crafting in Sixth and Seventh year are taught the basics, and must enchant a token to act as a temporary magical sink as part of their final mark in Seventh year."

Hermione sighed softly. "A lot of knowledge has been lost over the years." Her expression soured. "The tradition of family-only libraries and grimoires doesn't help to spread knowledge either."

Salazar's lips thinned. "There is a reason-"

"I know! And I agree. But it doesn't help Muggleborns integrate into Wizarding society. I think an adoption or fostering arrangement would increase understanding between all concerned. In fact it is one of my plans for when I become Monarch." She looked pointedly at the crown he held.

He inclined his head, acknowledging her not-so-subtle reminder. He gripped the crown firmly in both hands and raised it higher. "Then do you freely take this oath?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to govern the people of the British Isles according to their laws and customs?"

"I do."

"Will you use your Power to cause Law and Justice, tempered by Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments and actions?"

"I will."

She bowed her head slightly, allowing him to place the crown upon her brow. She felt the magic in it surge as it flowed over her and through her. She raised her hands and held them out to him, palm up, cocking a brow.

He smirked before placing his much larger ones against hers so they touched palm to palm, left-to-right and right-to-left.

"Salazar Slytherin, I Hermione Jean Granger take you as my husband, spouse by magic law and custom, mirror to my true self, partner on my path, until death do us part. I promise to respect, honour and accept you as you are, to cherish what we share and to stand by you in times of sorrow and joy."

A single gold ribbon formed out of the haze and twisted around her right hand binding it against his left.

She could see she had surprised him with the additional vows.

"Hermione Granger, I Salazar Taliesin Slytherin take you as my wife, spouse by magic law and custom, mirror to my true self, partner on my path, until death do us part. I promise to never knowingly or willingly cause you harm or grief."

Another gold ribbon formed out of the haze and twisted around her left hand binding it against his right.

She smiled faintly. It was the best she could expect from a Slytherin, she supposed, though his definition of harm and grief was probably more fluid than hers. Slytherins would always leave an out and she couldn't expect their House Founder to do any less.

The same cool asexual voice murmured an acknowledgment. "Witnessed. As thee have vowed so shall it be."

The ribbons burst into dust motes that gathered and condensed around their left wrists before fading.

Hesitantly Hermione pushed her left sleeve back to reveal a flat half-inch wide gold band around her wrist. A brief examination revealed no joint or seam indicating an opening, and it was too small to pass over her hand. Hermione strongly suspected it would resist any attempt at cutting, enlargement, or removal. The polished surface was etched with various runes and glyphs that Hermione was dying to translate. She looked at her new husband, who had pushed back his own sleeve to reveal a similar but slightly wider band.

"Do you wish to be known as Salazar Slytherin?" she asked in careful neutral tones. "It is a name that is feared and hated and envied."

He looked troubled for the first time since his appearance. "I am not ashamed of my lineage."

"That was not my question."

He glared at her before laughing abruptly. "Oh, why not! It would be amusing to throw a wolf amongst the sheep."

Hermione couldn't help smirking herself. "Oh really? And here I thought you would have said 'throw a snake amongst the mice'."

He made a face. "This lot is more sheep than mouse. Mice have self-preservation instincts to scurry into hidey holes."

"Hmmm. I suppose I have to agree with that. With a few rare exceptions."

Hermione turned to the pillar and picked up her wand to cast the necessary spell to generate the certificates for the Hall of Records. "Documentum."

An unrolled scroll appeared on the pillar's flat top. Hermione reviewed it briefly before brushing her bloody hand against it, pushing her magic into it to certify her acceptance. She glanced at Salazar who ran one fingertip against the sword edge, to draw blood, and brushed it against the scroll to certify his acceptance of their union.

The scroll twisted itself into a roll and duplicated itself five times. Three vanished, one going to the Hall of Records, another to the Department of Mysteries, and the last to the Ministry Genealogical Archives. Hermione picked up two of the remaining copies and tucked them into her sleeve, leaving the sixth on the pillar. She glanced at the sword lying on the pillar, trying to decide what to do with it. After an internal debate she came to a decision and held it out to her new husband.

"Here. I'm certain you have training and experience in wielding a blade."

He eyed her strangely. "You know Bright Dawn is the weapon of the Monarch. Only a personal Champion is permitted to wield it."

Hermione shrugged. "You are my husband and you did promise to protect me. If you refuse to be my Champion I'll ask Harry."

Salazar ignored the slight sting and the urge to inquire just who this Harry was. He reached out and took the weapon and scabbard, making small transfiguration adjustments to the belt so it could be worn across his chest with the sword against his back, hilt over one shoulder.

He glanced out at the creeping throng of almost lustful leering witches and wizards standing just a few feet away from the outer edge of the Elemental Circle. He was not interested in playing nice with weak-minded power-hungry fools.

He glanced at his pretty new wife who was removing the blood stains from the granite stones. A very intelligent move. When she was done he moved next to her and lifted her chin with two fingers, tilting her face up to meet his.

Hermione gasped as he brought his mouth down on hers. Hard. At first she resisted, pressing her lips together tightly. Then she felt his hand cupping the back of her neck massaging the tense muscles at the base. His other hand was stroking her cheek, thumb brushing against the corner of her mouth, angling her face so their noses did not collide.

She gasped and his tongue was inside her mouth, exploring the inside, teasing her. She clung to his shoulders, standing on tiptoe wishing for wedge heels or platforms. She could feel her body responding to his closeness. She wasn't quite sure if it was her own feelings or some effect of the Coronation Ritual and wedding bond.

"It's not."

When had he lifted his mouth from hers? She stared up at him dazedly. How?

"Legilimency."

Her mind began to clear. How dare-!

Her new husband simply gave her a knowing look and told her to, "Hush." He ignored her sputters of outrage at being silenced like a child and added, "If you are interested I will teach you Occlumency and Legilimency." Her anger died away. "Now, do you really want to stay and meet all these fools?" She couldn't hide her distaste. She was not a social person at the best of times and having to meet a mob of strangers was not her cup of tea. He smirked. "I thought so. And if I suggest we leave now?"

"That has my vote. Provided we can get through this crowd without being stopped. This entire level is warded against apparition."

He chuckled, a low rich sound. "We will not be apparating." He took one step and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against him.

Hermione gasped, feeling his magic rise and twist through her. Then she felt something else, something more. The world around them turned white and vanished.

~o~

Harry blinked and stared and blinked again. It was impossible.

"Impossible! No one can apparate out of an intact Elemental Circle."

Harry glanced up at Kingsley, who was standing next to him. "What about a portkey?" he asked the older wizard.

"The same rules apply."

Harry frowned slightly. "Hogwarts is warded against apparition and portkeys, but the Headmistress can create special portkeys that pass through the wards."

Kingsley considered the idea. "True," he allowed.

Harry glanced at the still glowing runes and stifled the urge to laugh when some over-zealous Department Head tried to step into the circle and was bounced back five feet.

"Why didn't they wait?" Harry wondered.

"They probably wanted to seal the bond first," Kingsley theorized.

"But she didn't even introduce her new husband," Harry grumbled. "We don't even know his name!"

"Actually we do," Kingsley corrected. "Or rather, we will shortly. The scrolls that vanished have gone to the Hall of Records, the Department of Mysteries, and the Ministry Genealogical Archives. Hermione was nice enough to leave a copy here as well."

The two wizards watched and waited. Two minutes later the circle-dome collapsed inward and faded away. Kingsley was the first across the fading runes and Harry was right behind him, to stand beside the Minister as the scroll was unrolled and spread out.

Both wizards paled upon reading the name of Hermione's new husband, the wizard who had kissed her and vanished with her. Salazar Taliesin Slytherin.

"You must be joking! Salazar Slytherin, Founder of my House, would never marry a Mudblood!"

Harry glared at Lucius Malfoy, who had forced his way to the front of the attendees and was reading the Marriage Certificate.

"Well, it looks like you're wrong, Malfoy, because he just did!"

The elder Malfoy inhaled sharply. "Because she pulled the Sword from the Stone. He would only make such a sacrifice to be Consort, for Power."

"I don't know, Malfoy, he looked pretty interested in the rest of her from what I could see. He was the one who kissed her after the ceremony was over." Harry ignored Malfoy's glare and turned to Kingsley. "Where did they go?"

"Probably some place private. Hermione knows the reception will start at ten tomorrow. She'll be there with her new husband." Kingsley grinned. "I'm more interested in finding out how they managed to vanish from a warded room in front of more than a hundred witnesses."

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Hermione gasped as the white light faded, leaving her blinking rapidly, seeing spots.

"What was that?"

"Ley line walking."

She spun around and stared at her spouse. "What?"

Salazar frowned slightly. "Has so much truly been forgotten?"

Hermione shrugged. "That tends to happen when information is hoarded." She turned away to study their surroundings more carefully.

They were standing in a very large room, longer than it was wide, clearly a private room. The end where they stood was the public area, with chairs covered in a sage green fabric set around a low table near a small heating stove. A writing desk with a more comfortable padded chair and several storage units stood near by, including packed bookshelves, a closed wooden cabinet, and a carved wood brass-bound trunk. The floor near the chairs and tables was covered with pewter grey rugs.

Hermione ignored the visible door and went for the bookshelves as her new husband unbuckled the sword belt and placed it, sword still in the scabbard, upon one of the trunks.

She almost cried out in protest when he wrapped one large hand around her arm, restraining her.

"There is time for that later." Gently but firmly he directed her towards the other end of the room separated by large folding screens made of cast iron, with heavy embroidered material stretched across the frames. They swung smoothly apart at his approach to reveal the private sleeping area dominated by an old-fashioned four-poster bed of dark oak, draped with heavy velvet curtains in a green so dark they were nearly black. A matching green quilted comforter was spread over a mattress and pillows covered with cream linens. Several trunks and cabinets were pushed against the walls around the room. Hermione absently noted that this part of the room had no windows, only two doors. A large floor-length mirror was suspended from a metal frame in one corner. The stone floor was covered with several luxurious silk carpets.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"My private suite."

Hermione blinked. "These rooms look too clean and contemporary," she pointed out.

"It is a variant on Rowena's Room of Requirement," Salazar admitted. "Furnishings are a composite of the House Heads' suites. The colour scheme is constant. The exterior of my storage spaces are modified to fit the décor. The preservation and protection wards activate when I do not cross the threshold for five days. Once they are active no one, not even the current Headmaster, can enter or even locate the suite."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You mean we are really at Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"But how did we get in? Wouldn't the castle wards keep out anyone using your ley line walking method of transportation?"

Now he looked amused. "Do you really think I would have let that stop me?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it. Then something else came to mind. "Are we in the Chamber of Secrets?"

Salazar snorted. "Don't be silly. The Chamber is a Ritual room for my experiments and projects. It is too damp and cool to live comfortably there, even with heating charms." Then his expression became more serious. "These are part of my private rooms. I brought you here so we would not be interrupted by external factors."

"Technically speaking, this suite is part of Hogwarts and we are trespassing. We should go to my flat. It is warded against intruders," Hermione pointed out evenly.

Dark blue eyes studied her sharply before he shook his head. "No. We are safer here. I want us to be honest with each other and my suite will help with that." Seeing her inquiring look he explained. "My rooms are spelled for truthfulness. It helps me to clarify my thoughts and work through difficult issues, when I am troubled and do not have a confidant close by. The occupants, even myself, can only speak the truth. You can refuse to answer or remain silent, but you cannot speak a lie aloud, even when you are alone." He ignored her stunned and panicky expression. "I will make a deal. I am curious about you, and I am certain you are curious about me as well. I am willing to answer some of your questions if you answer mine. If you are uncomfortable with some of the questions you can refrain from answering."

She considered the offer, testing the wording for traps and finding none. She opened her mouth and tried to say 'My name is Emma Thompkins' and failed. The words refused to come out. Of course it all hinged on him being also affected by the enchantment.

"Are you willing to swear that what you have just said is true?"

"I swear, upon my magic, that my descriptions of the enchantments upon this room are the whole and complete truth. Magic forsake me if I swear falsely." And then he cast Lumos indicating he still had his magic, that he had been true to his vow. She watched as he placed his wand on the bedside table.

It was an unexpected gesture of trust from a Slytherin. She felt obligated to match it by placing her own wand next to his. She nodded slowly. "Then I agree." She hesitated briefly. "How do you want to do this? A game of twenty questions?"

"Twenty questions?"

"We alternate asking questions. I ask one, then you ask, then I ask, and so on."

"Why don't we take somewhat longer turns? One of us questions the other for about half-an-hour before alternating? Some answers will lead to more questions or require clarification."

"Sounds good." She inhaled deeply. "You can start first."

He studied her carefully before guiding her over to the bed to sit down on the edge, then sat down himself, angled to face her.

Hermione slipped off her slippers and buried her toes in the plush wool carpet while she waited for him to speak. She hoped desperately that this oddly intimate two-way interview would help both of them better understand each other. Usually such understanding was developed over months of dating. Unfortunately they had completely by-passed the dating stage and were into the married stage, having shared no more than a single kiss.

He studied her intently before asking his first question. "Why did you attempt to draw the sword?"

She was taken aback by his choice of topic. "My friend dared me to."

"You did it on a dare?" His tone was incredulous.

She shook her head. "Not exactly. I persuaded the Minister of Magic to hold a press conference and publicize the fact that whoever succeeded in drawing the sword would become the Magical Monarch. Most of Wizarding Britain tried and failed. I was compiling a list of everyone who hadn't tried and Harry noticed my name was on the list. He said I should take my chance, since everyone had, so I did. And I succeeded."

"You mentioned him before. Who is this Harry?"

Hermione smiled at the question. "Harry Potter's my best friend, someone I consider as a brother. We became friends when he saved me from a troll in First year."

"Hmm, that sounds like a tale to hear someday." His expression turned serious. "You said you organized events so that all the adults would try to draw the sword. Why?"

That was a difficult question to answer. Hermione twisted her fingers together in her lap, trying to organize her thoughts. Finally she exhaled slow and began speaking slowly, then more confidently. "Wizarding Society needs change, and unfortunately only a Monarch has the authority to make the necessary legal reforms, to get rid of outdated and bigoted laws. If it is not done soon, unrest will ferment until it ignites another civil war."

"We you aware of the price of being crowned? The laws requiring the Monarch to be married?" he wanted to know.

"Oh yes, Augusta told me after I pulled the sword."

He raised a brow. "And you were still willing to continue?"

She did not betray any doubt in expression, tone, or words. "Yes. Our society will collapse unless it is changed."

"And when you heard my name, you were still willing?" His tone was rich with skepticism.

"I had doubts," she allowed, "But I remembered Augusta's words about previous Fates-chosen Consorts. She said that they are more than what I could ever imagine, balancing and matching their partner in a constructively beneficial manner. The Fates know things we don't, and I would like to think their choices will benefit me as well." There was something in his expression that told her she had convinced him of her sincerity.

He leaned forward, blue eyes very focused on her. "Then you are willing to listen to me?" he asked.

"Yes." She didn't have to think to answer.

"And obey me?" he wanted to know.

"Within reason," she allowed.

He leaned back slightly with a satisfied expression. "Then I am done. Ask your questions."

Hermione observed his composed demeanor feeling slightly confused. She had expected more of an interrogation. Hesitant to rock the boat, she chose her words carefully. "You seem to have adjusted to the situation very quickly," she observed. "If I were in your shoes I would still be in shock."

He looked faintly amused by her words. "As would I, if I wasn't prepared."

Her eyebrows drew together. "What do you mean?"

"Would you have agreed to a contract without reading it through? Reviewing all the terms and conditions?"

She shook her head in negative. "No, I wouldn't," she confessed.

"Then why do you imagine I would make a bargain with the Fates without the maximum amount of information?" Understanding dawned. "I insisted on a full briefing on recent and ancient history, culture, and modern languages." He smiled faintly at her admiring expression. "It is only common sense Hermione, I would never have agreed to any plans without the relevant information."

She nodded slowly. "I would have done the same," she admitted. She was quiet for a while as she gathered her thoughts before continuing. "History has labeled you a Dark Lord. Are you?"

"Yes." The response was voiced with no hesitation. "I am an expert in the Dark Arts. I received a Mastery in the Dark Arts when I was twenty-six. After that I spent decades expanding my knowledge and skill, enough to be called Adept or Lord."

Hermione had not expected that. She was silent for a few seconds while she mentally searched for alternative questions, to better understand him. "The most recent wizard to call himself a Dark Lord was a descendant of yours. He was a parselmouth, born Tom Marvolo Riddle. He called himself Voldemort and his followers called him the Dark Lord. The same with Grindelwald. Both they and their followers tortured, hunted and killed those they considered as lesser beings: Muggles, Muggleborn Halfbloods, and anyone who opposed them. What makes you different?"

Salazar smiled faintly. It was not a reassuring or soothing expression. "They lay false claims to be a Master of the Dark Arts. A true Master of the Dark Arts does not insist on being called Dark Lord because titles are irrelevant. A true Dark Lord is disciplined and always in control." Blue eyes bored into her as he stressed the last words. "He does not allow frivolous emotions to sway him. He does not allow selfish desires to drive him. He does not allow public opinions to influence him. He is not erratic and careless to use broad sweeping labels."

How odd, a Master of the Dark Arts insisting on discipline and control, when many modern Dark Arts practioners specialized in running wild and causing havoc. Cautiously she tried to re-direct her questions into other avenues. "Speaking of labels, it is said that you coined the term 'Mudblood' for Muggleborns. It is a degrading epithet, a racist slur."

He blinked, taken aback by her words. He shook his head with a bemused look. "It seems that the logic and reason for the term has been forgotten. All Muggleborns that I knew of in my time were Christians, who said that their God Jehovah shaped the first man out of clay, out of mud. And from Adam, they said, all men were descended. I freely confirm I did not like them, nor the insistence by some of my colleagues that they be invited to learn how to control their magic. They clung hard to those foolish superstitious beliefs and declared that magic was evil, the devil's tool. Since they were so proud of being descended from Adam, the label mudblood seemed a good fit."

Hermione couldn't quite control her amusement though she did try. "Doesn't quite work nowadays because Christianity is not the dominant religion - at least, not in Britain. In fact many people would call themselves atheists, non-religious," she pointed out.

"I'm sure I can come up with a different, more suitable term. What do you think of Firstblood or Newblood?"

"It is more descriptive than Muggleborn or Mudblood," Hermione allowed before redirecting the conversation. "How do you feel about what your descendants have done in your name, for blood purity? The lineages and families destroyed, the innocents killed?" she wanted to know.

His expression turned downcast. "Concerned that one of my kin fell so far and so easily. Disturbed that history has been forgotten and facts so badly distorted. Alarmed by the apathy and self-delusions of Wizarding society. If those present at the Coronation Ritual are the elite and representative of the factions in power, I have grave reservations for the future."

"You're not the only one. That's why I started the campaign to find someone to draw the sword in the first place. And speaking of swords, did you try to draw the sword in the past? In your time?"

"No," he admitted. "I wasn't interested in ruling then. I'm still indifferent today. My interests lie in academia, in research and experimentation. I will of course have to catch up on modern magical theories and discoveries, to bridge possible gaps. I do not wish to teach, but I may take an apprentice if I'm sufficiently impressed."

"Would you consider me a suitable candidate to be your apprentice?" she wanted to know. Of course she did not have enough time for such an endeavour, but she still wanted to hear his response.

His response was encouraging. "I do not think you would appreciate being subjected to all the restrictions of a traditional apprenticeship. Besides, you will not have the time to devote to a full-time apprenticeship. However, if you wish to collaborate in my work I would be agreeable."

"You believe I would be a suitable research partner?" Internally she was squealing like a fangirl. A Hogwarts Founder saw her as a possible research partner!

She must not have completely hidden that because his expression was amused. "The Fates would not have matched us if you were not. I like discussing my projects and interests with other intelligent beings. It was one of the reasons why I agreed to help build Hogwarts and to teach. I was not impressed by the intelligence or character of the typical witch and wizard, based on what I observed at our bonding."

"And you aren't interested in politics at all? In accumulating power and influence?" Hermione couldn't completely hide her skepticism from him.

"I dabbled in my first life and it brought me no end of grief. It was a relief when my wife died." He smiled slyly before continuing. "This time the only influence I wish to exert is on you."

Did he see her as a pushover? "Oh really?" Small sparks of raw magic jumped from her hair. She had to give him points when he did not jump at being startled.

"Of course it is up to you to decide, to take my advice or not." He continued speaking in a bland tone. "I'm a pragmatic strategist with over a century of experience in manipulation and power plays. It will only take me a few months to become familiar with all the factions and their quirks."

That was a surprising offer. Did he hope to be the power behind the throne? "Hmmm."

"I imagine I will probably find a few weak-minded fools to play with when I'm bored."

He wasn't serious, was he? "Sa-la-zarrrr!" she growled warningly.

"Her-mi-o-neee." He mocked her growl, drawing out each syllable. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, I'm not planning on kidnapping and torturing anyone using Dark Arts or any magical means. It will be entirely psychological."

"Oh."

She was quiet for a time, mustering up enough courage for her last few questions. "What do you really think about me? Being a Muggleborn." Her voice was carefully indifferent but surreptitiously she watched and listened to his responses.

He conjured a goblet of water and duplicated the magic for her. She cradled the heavy carved silver and watched as he took a few sips before answering. "Intrigued. Curious." A knot of tension relaxed inside her. "You must be remarkable and probably outside the norm. I do not think most other First-Generation magicals are like you. I wish there had been more like you a thousand years ago. Back then nearly all First-Gens were close-minded and fearful of magic."

"So you respect me?" she wanted to know.

His response was gratifyingly quick. "From what I've seen and extrapolated, yes."

"Will you listen to me?"

"Yes," he allowed after some thought.

"Will you obey me?"

"No."

That was not entirely unexpected, but she wanted to hear his reasons. "Why not?"

"It is not in my nature to obey blindly. You must first persuade me to your view point."

She mulled over his answer. "That is acceptable."

"Do you have any more questions?" he asked.

"Yes. Why did you agree with the Fates? To marry me, I mean?"

"They offered me the chance to live again, and a compatible intelligent partner. In my first life I married to seal an alliance and it was a horrible match. She was a vapid, vain shrew, and part of the reason why I agreed to help Godric build his school. It gave me an excuse to live in the wilds of Scotland for most of the year away from her. It was a relief when she died. I stayed out of political circles and focused on teaching and my experiments."

"And do you plan on doing the same now? Living separate lives once the bond is sealed?" She could not quite hide the hurt in her voice.

He laughed softly and shifted closer to her. Close enough to press his thigh against hers, to cup her cheeks and kiss her firmly. "That depends on how we get along," he murmured huskily against her lips.

She stiffened slightly. "I'm not a virgin." She wasn't quite sure why she had said that. Men of his time, she was sure, expected their wives to be pure. Was she trying to drive him away?

He lifted one hand to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Understandable. No female your age is a virgin, not unless she has been locked up by her family. You are old enough to have had four or five children, had you lived in my time."

She couldn't stop herself. "I had sex with my first and only boyfriend and I didn't like it. He called me a cold tease."

He rose and moved to stand before her. She stiffened slightly as long-fingered broad hands deftly lifted the crown from her head and set it aside. With unexpected deftness he slipped the combs out of her hair and removed the snood. As he ran his hands through her thick curls he spoke. "Immature boys do tend to be thoughtlessly cruel." His hands moved to her shoulders massaging them lightly. "I have never met a witch who was truly frigid, only victims of inept partners."

He heard her exhale sharply, felt her shoulders slump as muscles in them relaxed and resisted the urge to smile in triumph.

He bent low and whispered a simple order in one ear. "Remove your robes."

Her shoulders tensed back up. He dug strong fingers into her flesh, seeking out knots of tension. "It's been almost an hour already, and the bond must be sealed within five hours."

As he spoke one hand stroked the front of her neck, moving up until her chin was nearly immobile and tilted up so she had to meet his eyes.

She resisted. He could see the internal debate, the struggle in her eyes. If she was serious about exercising the Power of a Monarch, one of the first lessons he would teach her would be on control, facial expressions and body language.

Dark lashes lowered to hide her expressive brown eyes. He was content to wait for a signal from her. When they lifted a few seconds later he could see she had made her choice.

She shifted and leaned forward far enough to rest her forehead against his chest, enough to loosen his grip on her jaw. She took advantage of his distraction to break free and slide off the bed, rising and turning to face him. She removed their marriage scrolls from her robe sleeve and placed them on the night-stand next to the crown before deliberately moving to stand before him.

Her mouth trembled slightly as she raised her hands and loosened the clasps keeping her robes closed. The red velvet material parted, revealing the thin silky material of the chemise she wore underneath it. A fluid shrug and a wriggle allowed the robes to slide off her shoulders, down her arms, and off. Carefully she dropped them on the trunk at the foot of the bed.

She had said she would obey, within reason. He was pleased to find out she considered this reasonable but was curious to know if she would stop or continue.

He was not disappointed.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are wondering why Salazar Slytherin seems very well informed of recent historical events and the general culture of the enclaves, he is. No one, much less a Slytherin with self-preservation and common sense, would blindly agree to enter a situation without a full debriefing/background to anticipate possible conflicts. The Fates would have provided the information including history, culture, and language lessons before sending him back.
> 
> Next part is the wedding night, NC17, raw graphic sex.


	3. A Bonding Sealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the chapter title indicates, Hermione and Salazar’s actual wedding night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not suitable for underage readers. Rated NC17 for graphic sex.

_Her mouth trembled slightly as she raised her hands and loosened the clasps keeping her robes closed. The red velvet material parted, revealing the thin silky material of the chemise she wore underneath it. A fluid shrug and a wriggle allowed the robes to slide off her shoulders, down her arms, and off. Carefully she dropped them on the trunk at the foot of the bed._

_She had said she would obey, within reason. He was pleased to find out she considered this reasonable but was curious to know if she would stop or continue._

_He was not disappointed._

She raised trembling hands to her shoulders, slipping the row of tiny buttons out of their holes. The action caused the chemise to sag, exposing a great deal of one shoulder and her collarbones. Once she completed the action on the other side the slippery material flowed free, catching at her waist and wrists, baring her breasts to his heated eyes. He caught the bunched material at her waist, stopping her from freeing her wrists.

She could not stop her sharp intake of breath when he brushed his thumb over her nipples, lightly then more firmly around the dark pink areolae. The shame she felt at being exposed to a man who was practically a stranger faded as heat built in her core, between her legs, darting up past her waist, concentrating on the highly sensitized tips.

"Are you cold?" She stared at him dazedly. He repeated the question. "Are you cold?"

"N-no."

"Hmm. No, I thought not. I can feel the heat from your skin." He chuckled softly. "I can smell your arousal. Feel the heated warmth between your legs." Deliberately he pressed up against her. She blushed hotly and looked down, away from him. He hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Do not feel ashamed of your reactions, your body's needs. You are a witch who has been alone far too long."

He moved to her side, then behind her, and bent to brush a kiss against her shoulder. Her breath caught as he traced a path of kisses up her shoulder and neck to behind one ear, leaving behind a chain of red bite marks on pale skin. Her knees gave way when his teeth caught at the sensitive upper ear cartilage. He chuckled throatily as he caught her around the waist, drawing her against him.

He was still fully dressed in his heavy velvet robes but she could feel the strength in him, the legs almost straddling her, the torso pressed against her back, the hand splayed over the lower curve of her belly, drawing her up against him.

He was wearing something hard and thick, almost armored, underneath the dense velvet. Probably leather. Dragonhide perhaps? Before her mind could drift off into speculations his free hand curved over her inner thigh before shifting high enough to cup her liquid core through the thin silk of her under gown. She cried out as the action rubbed the now damp fabric over slick aroused flesh.

She almost cried in relief when his palm shifted to cup her mound, avoiding direct contact with her soaked slit and engorged clit.

Her relief was premature.

"Have you been taken standing up?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

He spun her around, pushing lightly so she fell back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge, wrists still caught in the tangle around her waist.

He caught the material and her wrists in one hand, pinning them against her stomach, keeping her immobile as his other hand drew the skirt up exposing the soaked thatch of brown curls covering her mound.

Before she could say a word his fingers were inside her, first one, then two, then three. Stretching the narrow passage, curving to reach inside and stroke a specific spot.

She cried out as she came hard, fluids gushing to soak his hand and the material beneath. She lay there panting in the aftermath of her orgasm, struggling to regain control. She whimpered softly as his softly stroking fingers reignited the fever in her veins.

He placed his left knee and hand on the bed alongside her right side, leaning over her. She stared at him with dilated dazed eyes, unable to comprehend what had just happened. She'd had orgasms - all self-induced in her bathtub or bed with a vibrator - but she had never felt anything like that!

"Merlin's balls, that incompetent fool should be rendered impotent for daring to call you frigid!"

"That never happened before," she whispered.

He snorted. "Understandable, if your only experience was with a selfish boy."

He withdrew his stroking fingers from her and she had to bite down the urge to protest. She forced her body to remain very still as he rested his damp hand on her waist.

"Do you agree that you are not frigid, that you are a sensual and passionate but inexperienced witch?" She nodded slowly. "Say it out loud," he ordered.

"Yes."

"Then will you follow my lead in the bedroom? At least until you're confident enough?"

She caught her lower lip between white teeth and worried the flesh. A nervous habit that seduced him to kiss her thoroughly and leave her breathless.

She watched with heated yearning eyes as he pushed himself off the bed and proceeded to strip off the heavy velvet robes and toss them over a backless stool. Her initial guess had been right. Beneath the robes he wore calf-high boots, tight fitting pants and a vest made from some grey-green hide laced closed at the sides with grey cords. She watched as he touched the lacings and they came undone without word or wand. She watched him toe off the boots and strip off the vest, then the pants, and stand in just a cream linen shirt. The shirt was generously cut and hit mid thigh; it hid too much. She wanted to jump up and rip it off, but she didn't. She simply worked her hands free of her undergown and levered herself up, leaning back on the heels of her hands, watching him watch her.

Some primal instinct urged her to stand up. She did not want to remain sitting, to be below him, in a subservient position. She rose, allowing the garment to fall in a puddle around her feet. Gracefully she stepped out of it and towards him, resisting the urge to cross her arms, to hide her breasts and the vee between her legs. Seeing the pleasure and smile in his eyes, she felt very proud of herself. She remembered something she'd read in a bodice-ripper - a gag gift from Ginny for securing her first position in the Ministry. Curious to know how true it was, she acted on the memory.

She reached out and took his hand, the one that had only moments ago stroked her to orgasm, and lifted it to her mouth. Brown eyes met blue as moist full lips enveloped one damp sticky digit. Her fluids were pungent, in taste and smell. Underneath was a salty tang from his skin.

It was his turn to hiss and struggle for restraint as full lips, sharp teeth, and a rough tongue wrapped around his fingers, cleaning them of her fluids and in the process driving him insane. When thick lashes lifted and lustful wanton brown eyes met his, he lost control.

He tugged his hand free and spun her around to face the bed, pushing roughly so she fell against the mattress, sprawling across the deep green cover, her lower body dangling over the edge. Before she could react he was on her, straddling her legs and upper body, resting his hands against the mattress over each shoulder, pinning her down.

She could feel him, the hard planes of muscle and flesh, the linen of his shirt rubbing against her back the only barrier between them. His rough motions dragged the fabric up. She could feel his shaft against her buttocks, underneath, between her legs, rubbing along her soaked slit. She could not stop herself from whimpering, rocking against him, shifting to encourage his actions, parting her legs so she was fully exposed to him.

And then he was there; hard, insistent and big, pushing into her, stretching her to a degree she had never experienced before. She gasped as he worked himself into her, inch by inch, filling her so much she felt impaled. She whimpered softly and felt him stop and soothe her, stroke her side gently before reaching under to tease her clit, to stroke the thin flesh stretched tight around him.

"You're too big!" she gasped.

He chuckled softly and kissed her shoulder again. "That is a compliment. But you can take me. Just a little bit more," he coaxed.

"I'll tear!" she whimpered.

"You won't." His voice was absolute. "Trust me, Hermione. I won't harm you."

The words reminded her of his vows so she relaxed. He shifted slightly and lifted her hips, drawing her knees up onto the mattress so her legs were folded underneath her, her butt raised high. Her trust was rewarded as he worked himself into her so deeply she felt his balls press against her clit. Her thighs were trembling from the strain, her body so tense she felt she was on the brink of shattering. Her face pressed into the heavy velvet and she could not get enough air.

And then it happened. It was a small shift of his hips, to get a more stable position as he straightened to strip off his linen shirt. His cock dragged along the rough nerve-rich spot on the inside of her passage, setting off explosions deep within her that spread throughout her belly, torso, and legs.

She screamed and came hard, muscles spasming, clenching around the hard foreign flesh rammed into her, hands twisting the heavy material beneath. Her nipples tightened and hardened almost painfully as they rubbed against the velvet nap. She was very aware of her core convulsing around him, drenching him in hot thick fluid. Her muscles refused to obey her commands, to crawl away from him, his cock, his hands, his mouth. He would destroy her with pleasure, without even trying.

He brushed her sweat dampened curls away from her temple. "Hush dearling," he murmured in one ear as he moved more aggressively, kneeling on the bed behind her. She didn't bother fighting when he drew her close, carrying her for a few seconds while he shifted to sit on the bed, legs stretched out on the mattress, with her on his lap. He continued cradling her as she lay pressed against his chest between his legs, his cock still hard inside her. She whimpered softly, her body over-sensitized from the pleasure.

"Watch," he murmured. And she obeyed as he wandlessly conjured a mirror, hanging suspended between the bedposts in front of the footboard.

She stared dazedly at the sight in the mirror. Was that really her? The woman in the mirror looked lush and sensual with her mass of wild curls spilling over her shoulders. Dark pink engorged nipples almost half an inch long tipped full creamy mounds set high on the slender torso, elevated at an angle that hid nothing from the viewer. Her groin was hidden by her legs sprawled before her, knees slightly bent and raised high enough to block the view.

The man behind her was smirking. There was no other way to describe his confident self-satisfied expression. Usually the sight would ignite the urge to slap it off. This time it only made her blink, arch slowly, and relish his sharp inhalation as the action set off sparks within, reigniting their desire.

It was her turn to inhale when large strong hands slid between her knees and pushed them apart.

"What-?"

Her question was ignored as those hands curved behind her knees and drew them back and away, parting her legs so her center was exposed. She struggled but he was firm, shifting so his legs were between hers and she was straddling his lap, still impaled upon him.

The muscles in her thighs quivered as she tried to move off him and failed. His hands were on her hips, pinning her down.

"What are you doing!"

"Fucking you."

He drew her hair back and bit the pale flesh at the base of her throat. She trembled and shifted her hips slightly off his and cried out when he forcefully pulled her back down upon him.

He inhaled sharply and trembled. He was not unaffected, then. Curious, she repeated the action. This time a fluent curse in Gaelic escaped him.

A slow satisfied smile curved reddened lips as Hermione shifted so she was kneeling upon the bed, rocking back against him, enjoying the sensations of him rubbing inside her and between her thighs.

It was almost liberating, seeing the woman in the mirror take control, unashamed of her actions and unafraid of her vulnerability. It was exciting seeing the column of pink-tan purpling flesh pull out and push in, filling her. It made it more real. Salazar Slytherin was her husband and he was taking her, fucking her, and giving her pleasure she had never ever felt before.

It wasn't long before she wanted more. Needed more. She raised herself on her knees higher and higher before thrusting herself down upon him. He was raising his own hips, to meet the downward motion of hers.

She was losing control. The undulating motion was no longer smooth and fluid. Her thighs were burning from the strain of the unfamiliar activity. Vaguely she remembered something she'd read in Muggle magazines: sex was an aerobic activity that burned a lot of calories and increased cardiovascular health. Now that she had experienced it herself she could believe it.

He was losing control as well. She could see it. His teeth were clenched, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown so far back the tendons in his throat stood out. He had already made her lose control twice. This time he was going to come before she did.

She reached down between her legs and stroked the sensitive skin between the base of his cock and the front of his balls. He choked and thrust up so hard she could almost see his cock pressed against the lower curve of her belly from the inside. And he came.

She felt thick fluid coat her insides, jet out in pulses against her quivering flesh. She came hard along with him, wringing his flesh of all his fluids, coating him with her own. Her body spasmed as she fell back against him, lying back against his front, his softening cock still plugging her hole, her legs straddling his.

She tensed, feeling something stinging her left wrist. Wearily she turned her head to look at it. The gold wristband from the ceremony had vanished leaving a narrow band of dark blue, and green glyphs seemingly tattooed into her flesh. She shifted her head and saw the band on his left wrist had also vanished leaving behind glyphs tattooed around the limb.

"The bonding has been sealed." His voice was deep and raspy.

She could feel him when he spoke. The vibration set off fresh sparks in her core. She winced at the thought of another round.

He must have sensed her discomfort because he chuckled softly and pushed himself up, so they could see themselves in the mirror.

Hermione blushed darkly seeing the creamy fluids oozing from her opening, around his softening cock, to drip on the green velvet cover.

He brushed a kiss against her jaw. "Don't be ashamed," he murmured in her ear. "Don't ever be ashamed of what is natural and beautiful."

She winced slightly as he lifted her off him and slipped out. She lay back with her eyes closed as he rolled off the bed and padded away. Her eyes opened when she felt the mattress shift. He was sitting on the edge of the bed holding a bowl of water and a square of soft cloth. She resisted the urge to reach out and take the items from him. Instead she forced her muscles to relax and allowed him to clean her genitals without protest.

She watched as he murmured soft words and wandlessly removed their fluids from the green velvet cover. She shifted as he drew the cover back to slip in beside her and then over them both before casting a wandless Nox.

For a while she lay tense in the darkness, very aware of her husband lying less than a foot away from her. He was Salazar Slytherin; it was not a good thing to demonstrate weakness to any Slytherin, much less the Founder of its House. But then again, hadn't she done just that, only minutes ago? And - more importantly - hadn't he done the same?

So she rolled over and pressed up against him. He was tense for a scant fraction of a second before relaxing imperceptibly and drawing her close, curving one arm around her. She sighed softly and rested her head against his shoulder, one hand spread over his heart, and sank into a deep natural sleep.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part, the morning after.


	4. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after their wedding night, Salazar and Hermione make their first public appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are wondering why Salazar Slytherin seems very well informed of recent historical events and the general culture of the enclaves, he is. No one, much less a Slytherin with self-preservation and common sense, would blindly agree to enter a situation without a full debriefing/background to anticipate possible conflicts. The Fates would have provided the information including history, culture, and language lessons before sending him back.

The next morning an impatient crowd of witches and wizards filled the Hogwarts Great Hall to capacity. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall struggled to maintain some semblance of order. Hogwarts House Elves were darting around serving food and drink. Ministry bureaucrats and Order members were fretting over the situation. The old traditionalist Pureblood families looked shell-shocked while their more flexible members wore scheming or considering expressions. Harry wisely took shelter behind one of the tapestries covering an archway leading to a private meeting room.

"Coward!"

Harry looked up and grinned at the sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, ducking into his hidey hole, pulling the tapestry into place behind him.

"Smart," Harry corrected Kingsley. "How is it out there?"

"Tense," Kingsley confessed. "If Hermione doesn't show up soon they're going to cut loose and go nuts."

"You don't have to worry about that, Kingsley," a familiar voice said.

Both wizards turned around and stared into the room behind them. Standing before a solid wall was a familiar brown-eyed brunette witch dressed in sapphire blue and silver embroidered silk robes over cream silk. Her brown hair was damp, curling in ringlets and flowing over her shoulders and down her back. Standing at her side was a lanky, broad shouldered, dark-haired blue-eyed wizard, his jet black robes open over green-bronze dragonhide boots, trousers and vest. It was the same wizard who had appeared in the Ritual Circle yesterday: Salazar Slytherin.

Slytherin ignored the wands immediately pointed at him by the two wizards and stepped closer to Hermione, reaching out to touch her hair.

Harry and Kingsley watched bemused as the infamous wizard conjured a comb and silver ribbons and proceeded to weave a narrow braid of hair away from Hermione's hairline, back to behind each ear. They glanced at each other in disbelief before putting away their wands, and watched a powerful Dark Lord act as a hairdresser and listened to him scold their friend, his wife.

"You are too careless with your appearance. If you wish to exercise your newfound influence you must use it as a stiletto. Image can be armor and shield. It can create an aura to soothe, energize, or challenge."

Hermione pressed her glossed lips together firmly. "We were running late."

"Being late to a battlefield is unforgivable. Being late to a social event is another story."

"And didn't you just compare image to armor?"

He pursed his lips before conceding. "True, most of your public appearances will be clashes until you've solidified your power base. But in this case, image and resolve are more important than punctuality. They are here seeking your favour. If they have any brains they will say nothing to turn you against them."

Hermione frowned. "Salazar, I would not be partial!"

"But you will be. And you must," Slytherin corrected her firmly. "If you wish to succeed you will need to gather those who have goals and views similar to your own. You will trust them with the more important and delicate tasks. You will give them more influence, wealth, and attention than the rest - at least at first, until the others have proven themselves."

Hermione was silent as she absorbed his argument. "You're right," she admitted after some time. "I would trust people like Harry and Minerva more than Ron or Cho. And if I had to choose wealthy influential Purebloods, I would choose Neville Longbottom and Daphne Greengrass over Draco Malfoy or Zacharias Smith." She heaved a sigh. "I'd like to think I'm not prejudiced but that would be a lie. I am prejudiced; just a lot less than everyone else."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip and made a sound of protest as her husband ran his fingertip over her chin pulling the flesh free of her teeth.

"Don't. Most cosmetic charms can be ended too easily, and you don't have any more cosmetic potions here."

Hermione made an impatient sound. "If we'd gone to my flat, I could have picked them up," she grumbled.

"And been too easily tracked down," he countered flatly. "We were too vulnerable until the bonding was sealed. And I prefer being fully involved in whatever I'm doing."

Hermione blushed hotly at that oblique reference to just how the bonding had been sealed.

Kingsley coughed delicately. "Then I presume your union has been consummated?"

Both looked at him. Hermione held out her left hand, shaking her sleeve back to reveal the wide band of blue and green runes and glyphs seemingly tattooed around her wrist. They shimmered almost silver and gold as she moved her hand.

"What are they?" Harry blurted out.

"Magical marriage bonding marks," Hermione spoke softly as she studied her wrist. "I didn't have time to do a complete translation and analysis, but it is very complex."

"And all-encompassing," Slytherin added off-handedly. "The number of marks is directly related to the compatibility of the match."

Kingsley and Harry studied Hermione's wrist carefully. There were so many marks, small and large, around her wrist that it almost looked like lace. They could see the correspondingly complex band around Slytherin's wrist as he raised and bent his left arm, the action pulling his sleeve slightly up his forearm.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say. "So, you're Salazar Slytherin."

" _The_ Slytherin, per the very inaccurate Histories," the wizard corrected absently as he pinned Hermione's hair up. "The same Salazar Slytherin who helped establish and run Hogwarts about a thousand years ago. One of the mages you call the Four Founders."

"You're a pureblood fanatic!"

"I am not."

"You hate Muggleborns!"

"How silly, considering my own maternal grandmother was one," he countered acidly as he pulled a delicate glittering thing - the same crown as yesterday - seemingly from thin air. He carefully set the braided and embellished circle on Hermione's head, adjusting the angle so it was stable before running his fingers down her face and cupping her cheek, tilting her face to meet her eyes. They stood there staring at each other, communicating wordlessly.

She smiled warmly. "I'm ready."

"Hiding from the public again, Mr. Pot-Miss Granger?" Everyone turned towards the alcove entryway to greet the newcomer. Minerva McGonagall pursed her lips as she took in the sight of one of her more favoured former students. "Or is it Mrs. Slytherin now?"

Hermione glanced up at her husband, who shrugged.

"It is your choice, and will ultimately influence how your actions will be perceived and taken. The name of Slytherin may be tarnished, but it is still an old and honoured one. It can easily be made into a focal point for a faction to build around."

Hermione's eyes turned inward. "Riddle did it," she murmured. "I see no reason why I can't do the same. Besides, it's your name and married women do take their husband's family name." A small cat-like smile curved her lips. "If we're careful, we can destroy the underpinnings of their beliefs without threatening violence." She glanced up at her husband with an amused look. "My mother often told me the most dangerous untruths are truths slightly distorted."

Salazar chuckled softly. "I prefer Aristotle: The least initial deviation from the truth is multiplied later a thousand fold."

Hermione sighed. "But convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies are," she pointed out reasonably.

"Then give them new convictions to believe in," he suggested.

Minerva frowned as she watched, bemused by the casual banter. The familiarity between the pair was… unexpected. Then she realized something. "How did you get in? The wards-"

"Would tell you nothing." Slytherin's dark blue eyes pinned the Headmistress down. "I helped design and cast the primary ward structure of Hogwarts. I can walk through them because they recognize me as the First Holder."

"The records say Rowena Raven-" the Headmistress began.

"The records are wrong." He turned away. "My affinity for earth and water made me the best candidate to cast and weave the wards. Helga was the secondary caster. Rowena assisted in the calculation and design but her affinity for air made her ill-suited for defensive wards."

Minerva was taken aback. "You mean, the wards that have made Hogwarts nearly impenetrable are the product of _your_ magic?"

"Mine and Helga's." He smirked at the aghast look on the Headmistress' face. "And I must say I am disappointed by their state! There are gaping holes and thin spots all over. And don't your students learn how to cast and use circles to contain and purify their magic? It has dangerously weakened the no-violence wards within the building."

Harry snorted. "You've got to be kidding! I nearly died every year in this school when I was a student! Especially in that ruddy hole where you hid your bloody basilisk that petrified Hermione!"

"Not my basilisk." His tone was not defensive or angry but almost sad. "My grandson's. His name was also Salazar Slytherin."

That surprised everyone. There was a small silence as they struggled to assimilate this new bit of information.

Finally Hermione spoke. "Salazar, I think we need to spend more time talking about your descendants."

"Oh, I quite agree. We most definitely did not have enough time to talk last night, with all our… activities." He chuckled, a soft wicked sound as Hermione blushed and the rest looked away uneasily.

Finally Minerva spoke. "You mean you do not support blood purity?"

"I do not."

"Then what about Slytherin House? The Histories say you selected students who were cunning, ambitious, and pureblooded."

Slytherin shook his head. "Cunning and ambitious most definitely, but I think pure of blood was mistranslated along the way. I chose students who were pure of purpose, devoted to an ideal, those who would not be easily swayed or tempted."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well the Sorting Hat has screwed up for the last few centuries. Slytherins have always been the first to sign up for any Dark Lord who came along."

The older wizard sighed and shook his head. "You don't understand. Cunning and ambition require a productive end goal on which to focus, discipline, and a strong grasp of ethics. When they stopped teaching Practical Dark Arts and the Ethics of Magic everything started going wrong. Mages graduated without even a basic understanding of Dark Arts and morality. From my perspective, the way modern magical society goes around casually Obliviating non-magicals is horrendous and irresponsible. It's mind rape. And ending the practice of teaching the basics of Occlumency to everyone? It's an open invitation to any unscrupulous natural or self-taught Legilimens to steal secrets and blackmail the victims." His voice was flat and unyielding.

Harry flinched, remembering Snape's lessons on teaching Occlumency, the repeated Legilimens attacks that had left him sick and near collapse. He remembered Voldemort, the horror of being possessed by the Dark Lord in the Department of Mysteries, the vulnerability, raw terror, and self-loathing that had filled him while seeing and feeling through Voldemort. If he had only had a better teacher than Snape. If Occlumency was more widely known there would definitely have been someone else who could have taught him in Fifth Year.

Minerva stared at the infamous Dark Wizard intently before shaking her head and returning to the present. "All right. You can pass through the wards without detection. But that doesn't explain how you crossed the entire Great Hall without being spotted."

Slytherin shrugged. "We didn't."

He reached out and patted the bare stones of one wall. Before everyone's eyes the square blocks shifted and reshaped to create an archway leading into darkness. He tapped the stone next to the archway, and the blocks re-shifted into their former arrangement. Smiling at their astonishment, he said, "An experienced Holder of the Wards can interact with the castle, creating doorways to wherever he or she needs to go within the castle."

"That explains how Dumbledore got around without anyone seeing him." Hermione muttered.

"Albus did not do it very often." Minerva admitted in a bemused voice. "He said it was hard to exit exactly where one wished to."

"That was to be expected. He was not fully committed to his responsibilities as Headmaster. He spent a great deal of time focused on...other matters," Slytherin commented neutrally. "Hogwarts did not appreciate his schemes since they generally led to students being traumatized."

Harry and the others glanced at each other uncomfortably, but there was no denying it was true. Dumbledore had been the head of the Order of the Phoenix, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, in addition to being Headmaster. And Harry and Hermione shuddered remembering some of their experiences as students.

Slytherin caught Minerva's eyes. "I do not expect you to have similar difficulties. You are a Headmistress who places your students' safety and education above all else. If you are agreeable, I can teach you how to get the most out of the wards."

Minerva considered the offer. He would not harm her, not after making such an offer in front of witnesses, including his new wife. "Perhaps. What would you consider as an equitable exchange?"

His response was instantaneous. "I wish to use my suite in the Founders' Wing for a few weeks while Hermione and I decide on a suitable new home."

"You mean we were in the Founders' Wing?" Hermione was aghast.

Slytherin bent his head in affirmation. "It is private, secure, and undetectable."

"You mean it's real?" Minerva was shocked.

"Just like the Chamber of Secrets was real." Hermione spoke impatiently while her eyes remained intent on her husband. "What else is in the Founders' Wing?"

Slytherin shrugged. "Many things. Our private libraries, our archives, some of our magical creations. And I am not going to share it with anyone. If you refuse to grant me access to Hogwarts in the future I will see about moving my property to a more accessible location. And I am well within my rights to do so. The Founders' Wing was not listed as part of my estate or as Hogwarts assets. The suites have always been treated as private households and hidden from students and staff. However, if Hogwarts recognizes someone looking for the wing as worthy, he or she might receive some guidance from the castle."

Minerva opened her mouth to protest then shut it. She couldn't argue with that logic. Besides, if the wing had not been found in a thousand years it most likely would remain hidden for the next few decades. After that it wouldn't be her problem.

"Do you have any idea where you will live?" she asked neutrally.

Hermione opened her mouth. "Not your flat," her husband interjected quickly. "It is not secure or defensible."

"A detached private property would be easier to ward," Hermione allowed reluctantly. "It won't be cheap," she warned him.

Slytherin considered her words. "Perhaps. I have to visit Gringotts in any case."

"Wouldn't your assets have been re-distributed as per your will?" Kingsley asked.

"I had several vaults, and only a few were listed in my will. The rest were prizes for knowledge seekers who passed my tests."

"Excuse me?" Hermione raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Slytherin shrugged slightly. "I made copies of my notes and research and sent them to my favoured students after I died. If any of them had cared to examine the journal and do some independent thinking, they would have located a more advanced volume of my work. Think of it as an intellectual treasure hunt."

Hermione grinned widely. "Could I get a copy of your first volume? I'd like to give it a shot."

Slytherin responded with his own grin. "If you want. You know you'll already have access to my archives."

She arched a slim brow. "The thrill is in the quest, the journey seeking knowledge. That thrill is increased tenfold when you succeed."

He threw back his head and laughed. "If you were born in my time, you would have been one of mine. And I would have seduced you as soon as you were old enough!" He wrapped an arm around her, tucking her against his side. "Rowena was rather pedantic in her approach to seeking knowledge."

The three others present shifted, discomfited by the intimacy they were witnessing.

Hermione sighed. "And I probably would have been seduced," she admitted without shame. "Brains do turn me on. If Professor Snape had been the tiniest bit nicer I probably would have done something very silly when I was a student."

"Hermione!" Harry was aghast. "Snape was a git!"

"Oh yes. But he was a very smart git. He was the youngest Potions Master to complete his Mastery in 173 years. The other one was a foster son of Nicholas Flamel. Even with his nasty disposition quite a few girls had crushes on him."

Minerva groaned. "Oh dear!"

"I don't think he ever took advantage of any offers," Hermione added hastily. "There was too much self-loathing and anger in him. I don't think he ever dared to relax, even after Voldemort was vanquished the first time."

Minerva considered her words. "You're probably right," she admitted. "Severus never left Hogwarts except for his ingredient-gathering excursions or guild meetings."

Kingsley frowned slightly. "How can you be so sure you still have assets at Gringotts? Someone might have succeeded in interpreting your journals."

Slytherin snorted softly. "I doubt it. The oldest Histories describe me as a bigoted Dark Lord. If the world believes that, then no one has managed to break the code. Besides, I had several numbered vaults in Gringotts that were protected by more… obscure methods. Unstable Dark Arts practitioners would never pass the tests."

"You had other vaults?"

"Numbered vaults," Salazar explained. "Where I stored my truly dangerous work, and a significant percentage of my private and rarer assets. The Slytherin vault was for heirlooms and galleons. If any descendant of mine sought my true treasure, my research, they would have to have hunted for it via the coded journal I left in the Slytherin vault."

But Kingsley still wasn't certain. "Can you please check as soon as possible, and confirm that your numbered vaults have not been accessed? The thought of your personal research in the Dark Arts floating around makes me uneasy."

Slytherin inclined his head. "I plan to do so after the reception."

Kingsley nodded. "Good. Any other plans?"

"Estate hunting, as I said," Slytherin answered after some thought. "And warding. Then I plan on catching up on the academic discoveries I've missed."

Hermione smiled wryly. "I suggested auditing some of the university undergrad courses before actually registering for any classes."

"String Theory and Quantum Physics sound most intriguing," Slytherin added, enthused. "With some work, they could add more dimensions to the current rules of Arithmancy and Runes, perhaps even close the exceptions in the more commonly accepted theories."

Harry stared in disbelief at the wizard whom History called a Dark Lord, a Dark Arts practitioner, a pureblood bigot, a Mudblood hater. Then he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "You're a bookworm! Just like Hermione!"

Slytherin cocked his head. "A...bookworm?"

"Yes! You love studying and reading and stuff."

Slytherin looked disillusioned. "Hermione tells me you were the one who defeated my descendant. It is quite disappointing, to see brawn and such a disorganized mind succeed in any form of conflict."

"It was sheer pig-headedness, along with raw power and no brains, Salazar," Hermione murmured impishly. "Harry had a small edge over Voldemort."

"Hey!" Harry wasn't certain but he thought he had just been insulted.

Minerva and Kingsley chuckled. Then Minerva sobered. "Do you have any plans regarding Hogwarts?"

Slytherin glanced at the older witch. "I have no plans to interfere, if that's what concerns you. You are doing an excellent job guiding the school. I may occasionally visit to access the Founders' Wing."

Minerva blinked at that reminder. She studied the younger-looking man intently. "Would you be willing to teach?"

It was Slytherin's turn to blink at that question. "Not particularly," he confessed. "My time will be greatly taken up by my studies and Hermione."

"It is tradition to invite visiting scholars to provide a private invitation-only lecture. A small class of exceptional students," the Headmistress coaxed. "The best, personally selected by the staff."

The Founder opened his mouth to refuse, but he was interrupted by his new wife.

"I can't think of a better way to begin rehabilitating _your_ reputation."

He took note of her pointed look, sighed, and turned to Minerva. "Very well, two sessions twice a year, the last weekends in November and April. No more than fifteen students. Forty in all if faculty or others insist on attending."

Minerva nodded sharply. "You should be prepared for forty. I expect there will be a great deal of interest in hearing what you have to say."

Slytherin snorted. "I will be teaching control, discipline, and critical thinking. None of my students progress until they master at least the basics of all three."

Hermione chuckled softly as she wrapped her arm around her husband's. "We should get going now, since we're already running late." She caught the eye of her old teacher. "The mob out there is going to run wild without you to control them."

Minerva straightened her hat. "Yes, you are correct." She looked around the small room, catching the eye of each of the occupants and seeing their agreement. Her gaze fell last upon the couple, the Wizarding Monarch Queen Hermione and her Consort Salazar Slytherin. "Are you ready, my dear?"

Hermione inhaled deeply and lifted her chin. Amusement and hesitation faded, leaving a cool composed expression, a soft smile curling glossy lips. "I am."

The Headmistress's voice fell into more formal tones. "Then let us introduce you to your new subjects, Your Majesty."

Minerva turned and walked towards the curtained entryway, certain the couple would be following. She wasn't entirely certain how the crowd would react to Hermione and the true character of her husband, but she was certain of one thing: they would succeed in whatever they set their minds to. It simply was not in their natures to give up. Hermione always gave her studies a hundred and twenty percent effort, and Minerva could not see her doing any less in regards to her new responsibilities and powers. And given how smoothly Hermione interacted with her new husband, Salazar Slytherin was almost certainly going to support her in whatever endeavours she had in mind.

Suddenly Minerva realized she was truly looking forward to this new future, this new world where some of the oldest pureblood scions would have to swallow their bigotry, kneel and be ruled by a 'mudblood know-it-all' and her husband, their idol.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note I have no concrete plans to continue/expand in the near future as I’ve got too many plot bunnies and WIPs that I have to focus on. But I do have a few ideas in mind, mostly outtakes, or reactions from others around them, supportive or not. The following are potential POVs but nothing is promised  
> \- old schoolfriends, allies - Lavender, Parvati, Ginny, Ron, George, Bill, Fleur  
> \- Purebloods - Daphne, Draco, Narcissa, Lucius, Blaise  
> \- Ministry staff - Arthur, Kingsley, Percy  
> \- portraits & Hogwarts staff - Snape, Dumbledore, Fat Lady, Pomona, Filius, Slughorn


End file.
